


Lost and Found

by StarSongs



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to book canon, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Slow Burn, Smoking, Underage Smoking, brief cameo from Death of the Endless (Sandman), lots of laughing and lots of crying, no beta we die like men, references to miniseries canon, richie and bev are chainsmokers, richie is an alcoholic, richies parents are neglectful, the canon has been stripped for parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26522275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSongs/pseuds/StarSongs
Summary: Eddie was floating.Not in the way he saw the kids floating in the cavern 27 years ago; at least, he didn’t think so.He watched the scene unfolding below him. The Losers crushing the Clown’s heart to dust in their hands. Richie rushing over to get to-Oh.That’s his body._________In which Eddie gets a second chance, and the Losers get their memories back.Alternates between child and adult timelines.
Relationships: (referenced), Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	1. The Moment After

Eddie was floating. 

Not in the way he saw the kids floating in the cavern 27 years ago; at least, he didn’t think so. 

He watched the scene unfolding below him. The Losers crushing the Clown’s heart to dust in their hands. Richie rushing over to get to-

Oh. 

That’s his body. 

Had Eddie been corporeal, the shock would’ve sent him crashing to the ground. As it was, he could only stare, cold shock rolling over him in waves. Eddie Kaspbrak was dead. 

His friends below him seemed to be moving in slow motion as the cavern began to cave in around them. He watched as the realization dawned on them that if they stayed, they’d all be crushed, that they had to move _now._ He saw them try to pull Richie away from his body - oh God, his _body_ \- and then, they froze. 

“Hiya, Eddie.”

Despite not having any, not anymore, Eddie’s blood ran cold. Although he couldn’t recognize the voice, he _knew_ who was talking to him. 

“I really am dead.” He turned to face the Reaper. Eddie thought he knew what to expect; skulls and robes and scythes and being taken to whatever came after death. What he didn’t expect was the woman sitting on the rock his body was lying against, looking at him with a kind smile. “What the fuck.”

The woman laughed, crisp and clear, in a way that calmed Eddie’s nerves, just a little. “I’m not what you expected, huh?” Eddie nodded silently, as the woman- the Reaper smiled her motherly smile at him. “Surprise! Turns out the whole skeleton thing doesn’t really go over well with most people.” 

_Ok, that tracks_ , Eddie thought. For all intents and purposes, Death looked surprisingly _normal._ A little on the goth side, sure, but he guessed that was kind of expected. “Fuck.” Eddie looked away from Death, back towards the frozen figures before him. “This isn’t how I thought I’d go. I mean, in hindsight the killer clown thing was probably gonna be up there in Causes of Death, but I didn’t even know that was a thing I should be worried about until like 2 days ago.” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I always thought it’d be some disease. Or one of the placebos. I don’t even know if that could kill you. I mean, they’re just sugar, but sugar can cause some nasty shit so I guess-” His rambling was cut off by another bout of laughter from Death. 

“Sorry, sorry. You keep going.” She shifted so she was sitting criss-cross, watching Eddie with an amused smile. 

“So, what happens now?” 

Death’s face fell, though it wasn’t quite a sad expression. “Well, that’s where it gets a bit confusing.” She stood from her spot on the rock, coming to stand next to Eddie, looking down at his body. “Obviously, you got impaled. That’s not easy to come back from. I should know.” A dry chuckle escaped her, still staring down at what was once Eddie. “But you’re a special case, Eds. See, some interested parties have been trying to get It to me for a while now, but, well, it took a bit.”

“But I’m still dead.”

“You’re still dead. But here’s the thing.” She put her hand on Eddie’s arm, spinning him around to see what was once Pennywise. Around It, a faint orange glow illuminated the cavern. “Before you ask, the others can’t see this.”

Panic started to hit Eddie. “Is It still alive? Why is it glowing? What the _fuck!”_

“Nope, It’s definitely dead. You guys got ‘im good. It was real pissed when it saw me, too. Tried to fight me off, but” her voice dropped, “I’m inevitable.” Eddie blinked. “ _Avengers?_ Not a fan? You should check those movies out.” 

“No offense, but it’s gonna be hard to go see the fucking _Avengers_ if I’m-” 

“Dead, yes, I know. But like I was saying, you’re a special case. Remember those interested parties I mentioned? Well, getting It taken care of has made them a bit more generous than usual. All that glowy stuff? That’s residual life energy.” She paused, watching Eddie’s face as he shifted into straight-up confusion.

“So, it’s still alive?”

Death sighed. “Eddie, trust me. I carried It to the afterlife myself.” This answer seemed to calm some of Eddie’s anxieties, a small smile creeping its way onto his face. 

“It really, really won’t be missed.” He looked at Death out of the corner of his eye as she seconded his sentiment. “So, what’s _that_?” He gestured in the direction of the orange glow

“Whenever a being dies, it leaves behind just a little bit of life energy. Most things on Earth don’t really leave too much behind, since lifespans here are pretty low. But the older the being, the more life it has, so the more it leaves behind. Normally, it sticks around for a bit and then just sorta floats off into the ether. But, sometimes, it can be transferred.”

Death watched as the pieces clicked into place for Eddie. He turned to fully face her, eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you saying I can come back?” 

Death shrugged. “Probably. This stuff doesn’t happen often, but every time I’ve seen it happen, it’s worked.” She paused, locking eyes with Eddie, and he found himself unable to look away. “But do you _want_ to come back?”

When they say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, they aren’t exaggerating, as that’s exactly what was happening to Eddie in this moment. 

He was no longer standing in the cavern, but instead was standing in front of Myra at the altar, she in her unflattering wedding dress and him in his too-tight suit. Her voice echoed around them, “Eddie, honey, don’t forget your medicine.” “It's going to be cold, make sure to wear your jacket.” “You’ll never leave me, won’t you?” He wasn’t able to pinpoint the moment when her voice shifted to that of his mother, her words coming out of Myra’s mouth. He watched the proceedings continue, voices swelling and echoing around the cavern. 

“Til death do us part.” 

The scene shifted again, and Eddie was in his cubicle in his office, answering calls day in and day out. Occasionally, he’d be called into a meeting where his boss talked about statistics of companies taking over each other and unsafe business practices, and Eddie tried to pay attention, he really did, but a voice in the back of his mind echoed “if only these people knew what it really is like to be at risk.” He never knew what to make of that. After all, it wasn’t like he’d ever been in any real danger at any point in his life.

The world kept shifting around him; the day he met Myra, not even a week after his mother’s funeral and thinking he’d found something special. Then back in college, the drunken nights pretending he really was just going through an experimental phase when he fell into bed with a boy from his calc class. The voice of his mother in the back of his mind, “all these boys dying of AIDS, what’d they expect to happen. It’s not natural what they do” calling out to him as he cried into his pillow at night. 

And then he was 13 again. The quarry manifested around him, the Losers splashing around in their tighty whities, laughing and smiling and feeling like they belonged together; they’d always belonged together. He was 14 and sharing his first and last cigarette with Richie, nearly hacking his lungs out as the taller boy laughed, rubbing comforting circles on his back. He was 15, greedily stealing popcorn from Stan’s bucket in the back row of the Aladin, Richie's hand held loosely in his own. He was 17, huddled in the barrens as the losers clung to each other, a mess of tears and half-hearted promises to keep in touch once they were off in college, the weight of knowing that the others had promised the same thing before years of complete silence, and knowing, deep down, that the same thing was going to happen to them.

And then he was back at the restaurant, listing the allergies he didn’t really have (except for the tree nuts, that one was definitely real), his words dying in his throat as he saw the Losers, feeling like a whole person again. 

Then the scene faded, and he was back in the cavern. His friends were still frozen below him, Richie clinging to his body like he would never let go, Bev with a hand on his shoulder, a look of panic shared among the others as they watched the cavern begin to collapse.

He turned to Death, who was staring right at him, her gaze piercing and lips pulled into a tight line, as though she dreaded his answer. 

“I want to go back.”

Death smiled, and Eddie saw white. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell about these boys with me on Instagram @Spice.Rat or on Tumblr @StarSongs99  
> This fic is fully completed so hopefully I'll be uploading a chapter a day!  
> Have a good one!


	2. The Fun's Just Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya boi took a 20-hour depression nap yesterday so this is a day late but-

Richie saw red. 

Red as the blood spilled out of Eddie, onto him, his mind racing with  _ he saved me, he’s dying, he saved me and he’s  _ dying. 

Red hot rage as he charged towards the shriveling form of Pennywise, pulling off its leg like it was nothing more than a crab on a dinner plate. He screamed at It, making It smaller, smaller, until they could rip Its beating heart out and crush it, and Richie would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a sick sort of satisfaction as he watched the life drain from Its eyes. 

The deed was done, but Eddie was still bleeding. He hardly took the time to be glad his childhood nightmare was over before Richie was at his friends' side, and, oh God, there was so much  _ red.  _ The cavern had begun to collapse around them, his friends were calling to him to move, but all Richie could think was  _ red, red, blood red, Eddie bleeding, Eddie _ dying.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, heard Bev talking to him. “Rich, honey, he’s gone.” But he wasn’t  _ gone.  _ Eddie’s eyes were glazed over, and his skin was growing cold, and there was still so much  _ blood _ , but he wasn’t  _ gone.  _

“No! No, he isn’t gone. He’s just hurt! We can still help him, we just have to get him out of here. We-” He was cut off by a loud crash from across the cavern; more of the ceiling caving in on them. 

“Richie, we need to luh-luh-leave!” Bill’s voice grew closer, but Richie didn’t turn to face him, eyes trained on Eddie’s face. “I’m s-sorry, Rich, he’s-” Bill’s voice broke with a sob. “We have to g-g-go.” 

  
  


Bev’s grip tightened on his shoulder as Richie pulled Eddie towards him, burying his face in the other man’s shoulder as he cried. He felt the hands on him, trying to pull him away, but he only clung tighter. “No! Please, no, we can still help him! He’s not  _ dead. _ ” 

“Richie-” -

“Don’t! He’s not- he’s still here.” Richie finally turned to look at the Losers. “We fucking- we made Pennywise believe he was small, right? We can do that for Eddie. If we believe he isn’t dead, then he isn’t, right?” The others exchanged nervous glances, looking between Richie and the collapsing room around them. “I know, I fucking  _ know  _ it might not work, but, please. Please, just try.” Richie didn’t wait for the others to reply, turning back to face Eddie, pulling him fully into his arms. “Eddie, it’s gonna be okay. You’re real hurt, man, we’ve gotta get you out of here. We’ll get you up and to a hospital and they’ll fix you up and then we can- fuck, we’ll leave, we’ll get you as far away from Derry as we can, but we gotta get you outta here first, okay? I-”

Another crash, this time louder, closer, but Richie barely heard it. He was almost able to tune out the shouts of ‘we need to go’ from behind him but wasn’t able to ignore the hands pulling him away. “Eddie, no! Please wake up, please don’t go. I can’t lose you again! Please don’t-”

“R ...Richie?” Eddie’s voice was no louder than a whisper, and he winced as he spoke, but it was enough. He grasped onto Richie’s shirt, keeping him in place, as though Richie would even dream of moving away. 

“Eddie, holy shit, hold on Eds. We’re gonna get you out of here.” Richie tried to lift Eddie from the ground but his legs were numb with adrenaline, and he crashed back down. Ben and Mike came to his aid, slinging Eddie’s arms around them, half carrying-half dragging his limp body through the caves. Bev helped Richie up by his arm, and she and Bill ran with him out of the caverns.

None of the Losers could tell you exactly how they got out of the caverns that day. They could, however, tell you the relief of feeling the hot summer sun on their skin, and the unabashed joy they all felt watching the Neibolt house collapse into itself. Even Eddie, in his half-lucid state, managed a smile, and a “rot in Hell, asshole.” 

A wince from Eddie pulled the others out of their trance, Bev rushing for her phone to call an ambulance as Richie made his way over to where Eddie was sat on the ground, his weight supported by Bill, who he was using as a backrest. The jacket that was pressed to his wound was gone, and his bleeding had started back up full force. Without hesitation, Richie pulled his button-up from off his shoulders, pressing it firmly against Eddie’s wound, causing the other man to cry out in pain. 

“Shit, Eds, I’m sorry. I know that’s gotta hurt.”  _ No shit,  _ his mind supplied. Richie shook the thought from his head. He was just trying to help. “That was stupid. Of course, it hurts.” 

Eddie smiled at him, his face soft, and was the circumstances different, Richie was sure his face would be burning. “Thank you, Rich.” Eddie leaned forward, ignoring the worried noise coming from Bill behind him, and pressed his forehead against Richie’s. “Thank you.” 

Not for the first time, Eddie’s words left Richie speechless. Instead of speaking, he placed his hand ever so gently on the back of Eddie’s head, holding them both in place, and allowed his eyes to slip closed. He felt the ghost of Eddie’s breath on his lips, tinged with the iron scent of blood, covered in the stench of greywater. Richie knew then that come Hell or High water, he wasn’t going to let Eddie go. 

The rest of the Losers gathered around them, holding each other as they cried. They were tears of relief, of joy, and of fear of losing their friend again before the ambulance could get there. Words of love were spoken as they clung to each other; half-hearted jokes were told to make sure Eddie had something to focus on and to cope with what they’d just gone through. Dread still clung to them like a fog, but Eddie was laughing at their jokes, sharing in their sentiments of love, and holding them all as they waited for the sound of sirens. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grammarly keeps yelling at me for using too many commas if that tells you anything about my writing style  
> Come yell about these boys with me on Instagram @Spice.Rat or on Tumblr @StarSongs99  
> Have a good one!


	3. Richie and Beverly's Smoke Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the canon begins to be picked for parts. Things to note:  
> I'm ignoring the scene where Bev leaves in the movie and am instead replacing it in my mind with the scene from the book bc it's just so much more powerful to me.  
> Also I'm using part of Richie's characterization in the book in that he and Bev both smoked a lot.

Six hours later found the Losers stumbling back into the Derry Town Inn, exhaustion bone-deep, covered in sewer grime and blood. They’d all but been kicked out of the hospital waiting room after getting the news that Eddie was out of surgery. One of the doctors explained that the first 24 hours were most critical, so there would be no visitors allowed until they were certain he was stable, but that they believed he was going to make at least a partial recovery. Richie nearly broke down at those words. Eddie was going to make it. 

The drive back to the Inn was nothing more than a blur, his body moving on autopilot as Richie stepped into the shower, watching as the water pooling at his feet gradually turned from black to grey to clear. He scrubbed himself raw, washed his hair at least three times (a record, for him), and stood in the shower for about five minutes extra, watching the horrors of the last few days slip down the drain. He didn’t come back to manual drive until he climbed into bed, not bothering with pajamas, too tired to do anything but sleep.

But sleep never came. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the deadlights. He saw Stan taking his bath. The deaths that would’ve come had they not killed It. He saw Eddie, dying right in front of him, his body left to rot below ground. Richie groaned, pushing the scratchy hotel covers away and digging in his bag for a fresh set of clothes. He didn’t have a plan of where he was going, but he knew he wasn’t going to stay in that hotel room, pretending he’d be able to get to sleep if he just tried hard enough. 

Turns out, he didn’t need a plan. Sitting on the steps to the Inn was Beverly, softly illuminated by the street lights, face cast in an orange glow from the cigarette burning between her fingers. No words were exchanged as Richie moved to sit beside her, a knowing look on her face. She pulled her pack out of her pocket, extending it towards Richie. 

“I haven’t touched one of those in almost five years.” She visibly recoiled, an apology on her lips. Richie smiled at her, sad and small, plucking one from the pack. “Never needed one as bad as I do now.” 

Bev smiled and passed her lighter to Richie. “My husband, he tried to get me to quit. He’d almost done it, too, until I got Mike’s call.” A humorless laugh fell from her lips. “That was the first time I’d smoked in front of him in six months. Didn’t even realize I was doing it until…” She trailed off, absentmindedly rubbing at her wrist. Richie shuddered. He’d seen the bruising on her arms as she’d hugged Ben back at the restaurant. 

Richie scooted closer, putting an arm around her shoulders but pulling back when she flinched. “Shit, sorry, should’ve asked-”

“No, it’s okay. Just, wasn’t expecting it is all.” Bev slid closer, resting her head on Richie’s shoulder, taking another drag. The two sat in silence for a while, both lost in thought. “You couldn’t sleep either, huh?” 

Richie nodded, making pointed eye contact with a scuff mark on his shoe. “It’s like every time I close my eyes, I see everyone-”

“Dying.” Bev finished for him. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not especially, no.” Richie knew that, eventually, maybe, if he’d ever wanted to talk about it, Bev would be the person he’d go to. But talking about it meant thinking about it, and thinking about it made it all sink in that it was _real._

The silence that fell over them teetered on the edge of uncomfortable. It was heavy and would’ve been unbearable if Richie had been alone. As it was, Richie still had his arm around Bev’s shoulders, her head still resting on the crook of his neck. They’d smoked through nearly half the pack together before the silence was finally broken.

“I saw one of your shows, you know. Must’ve been, what, three years ago?” Richie finally looked up from the ground, letting out an embarrassed groan. “What’s that for? You were good!” 

“Come on, _I_ don’t even think my act is funny.” Bev laughed, loud and clear, lightly elbowing him in the side. “Hey, I don’t write it! I’m allowed to say that.” 

Bev rolled her eyes. “I mean, to be fair, you can kinda tell. It was weird, I was watching you, and I thought to myself, _these don’t sound like his jokes at all._ I got so freaked out that I ended up almost leaving halfway through.” Richie started to say something, but Bev quickly cut him off. “Don’t even try to make this a self-deprecation thing.” Richie quickly shut his mouth again. “Anyway, I got home, and all I could think was that I knew you, not from your comedy, but from somewhere, way back when. And the funny thing is, that was the first night I didn’t have a nightmare since I left this place.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 1989 

“So, you’re really leaving.” It wasn’t a question, as much as Richie tried to frame it as one. Beverly nodded, plucking the cigarette from Richie’s hand. “Hey! I wasn’t done with that!”

“You weren’t smoking it, so.” To accentuate her point, Bev took a long drag. Richie’s expression shifted from one of absolute outrage to laughter as she coughed. “Shut up, trashmouth.” 

She passed the cigarette back to Riche, still coughing just a little bit. A comfortable silence fell around them. After Bev had broken the news to the club, after the blood oath was made, Richie had insisted they share one last smoke break before she left for good. 

It’d become somewhat of a tradition after the Fight. It wasn’t even an intentional thing. Beverly had happened to come down to the clubhouse one day, fully expecting to find it empty (as it had been the past several times she’d come to visit), but instead finding Richie, curled up in the hammock, aggressively rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to mask that he’d been crying. Wordlessly, Bev had given him a soft smile, sitting down on the hammock with him. She’d pulled out her pack of Marlboros, Richie had asked if he could bum one, and that was that. 

It’d become a semi-regular thing after that. The meetups were never planned. Beverly knew her dad would kill her if he’d found out she was planning on meeting up with a _boy_. Richie didn’t have her home phone number and was honestly worried about making the rift in the group worse if they’d found out the two were meeting up as if nothing had gone down. But when they spotted each other in town or happened to bump into each other at some of the Losers’ usual haunts, they’d stop long enough for a smoke. Sometimes it was a quiet thing, only a few words being spoken between them. Other times, they’d sit together for what felt like hours, talking about things that only the seven of them could ever understand. They’d talk about their fears, their hopes, and, on occasion, things more personal than a killer clown.

The day of the Arcade, Richie had spotted Bev and had asked if they could go down to the quarry. He’d nearly told her everything that day. He knew, deep down, even if the rest of the town was going to hate him, Beverly would be there. Instead, he’d broken down into tears, and she’d held him as he cried. When all the tears had run out, he’d asked if she had a pack on her, and that was that. 

Now, the two sat in the same clearing the pact had been made, only hours later, the sun just beginning to dip below the horizon. 

“What time is your flight?” Richie asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“It’s supposed to take off at 6. I’m gonna try to get to the airport earlier though.” Ordinarily, Richie would've turned it into a joke. _Waking up that early during the summer? Willingly? Bev, I knew you were loco, but this really takes the cake!_ He would’ve said. She probably would’ve laughed, shoved him clean off the log they were sat on, and laughed even harder.

But he knew Bev needed to leave. A couple weeks back, she’d had her own breakdown, and although she didn’t share everything going on at home, she’d told him enough. She made him swear not to tell anyone else, and he’d kept good on that. He knew, more than most, she _needed_ to get out of Derry. So he kept the jokes to himself. Instead, he watched as she snuffed the cigarette on the bottom of her shoe. They’d smoked it down to the butt. 

“Hey, Bev. Can I tell you something?” He’d been working himself up to this for weeks now. He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell the others, but Bev? Some part of him knew that she’d accept him. But a nagging voice in the back of his head, one that sounded a lot like Bowers told him in no uncertain terms what would happen if anyone _did_ find out. His hands started to shake.

Snapping him out of his thoughts was Bev’s laugh, a bit forced, more than a little uncomfortable, but still a laugh. “Rich, you know I love you, but you are _so_ not my type.”

“What the fu- That’s not what I was gonna say!” 

“Oh, thank God.” She laughed again, this time genuine. “I mean, no offense, but that would be, like, super awkward for both of us.”

“Completely, 100% agree.” Richie laughed with her, wringing his hands as he pushed his thoughts to the side. _Well, it's now or never_. “If it means anything, you aren’t my type either.” 

Her laugh died down, but she still had an amused smile on her face. “Oh really? Well, what is Richie Tozier’s _type?_ ” Her tone was light and joking, but Richie felt anything but. He was dimly aware that his smile had fallen, and he could feel the shaking spreading further up from his hands. “Rich? You okay?”

Richie didn’t meet her gaze, but he could feel it on him. He took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around himself, digging his fingernails into his arms. “Richie, hon, it’s okay. We don’t...you don’t have to tell me.”

Richie shook his head. “I _want_ to tell you. You’re like, the only person I think I can tell.” He took a deep breath, God, it was hot out. Was it getting harder to breathe? He dug his fingernails deeper into his arms, quickly spiraling into a panic. He felt Beverly’s hand touch his shoulder, hesitant and soft, and heard her say his name, and he slowly returned to reality. His heart was still pounding, but he was loosening his grip on his arms, sitting back up. He took a deep breath. _Here goes nothing._ “You aren’t my type because...girls aren’t really, um, my type.” 

He refused to meet her gaze, feeling the silence between them, feeling the intense need to fill it. Richie never liked the quiet. “I, um, I was gonna tell you, after the whole thing with the Paul Bunyon statue, but I was so _scared_ you were gonna hate me. Fuck, I still am. More than I was of that fucking clown, but you’re going away and I just- I had to tell someone or I was gonna go crazy, and I thought _well even if she hates me, at least she won’t have to stick around to deal with me_ and-”

“Richie.” His rambling was cut off. She didn’t sound...angry. That was, that was good. “Hey, Rich, look at me.” 

And he did. He turned to look at her, his eyes stinging, ready to face her rage, her disgust, her- 

Her smile. “There you are.” She took a deep breath, face scrunched in concentration, as though she was choosing her words very carefully. “Richie, I could never hate you. I mean, I’m a little surprised, what with all your boob talk, but I’m not mad. I could- well I was gonna say I could never be mad at you, but we both know that’s a fat load of shit.” 

Richie laughed, short and pained, but he laughed, and she laughed with him. “I’m really glad you told me. You know, we all love you, no matter what.”

“You don’t know that.” Richie frowned, looking down again. “You don’t mind, but the other guys. I mean, they’re _guys._ They’re probably gonna think I’ve been perving on them this whole time. They’re gonna get freaked out, and then they’re all gonna leave me.” _I don’t want them to leave me._

Bev put her hands on his shoulders, looking him square in the eyes, and Richie didn’t have it in him to look away. “Richie, you know those guys. Do you think they’d do that?”

Richie thought, really thought. Every slur he’d ever had flung his way was playing in his head, every leering gaze, every bit of bathroom graffiti, and cut off conversations about him. Everything in his head told him that Derry would hate him. But when he thought about the Losers, he just couldn’t see it. Hell, Bill had punched him square in the jaw, but had come back and had offered himself as a sacrifice, all to save the others. They’d banded together after the worst fight of their lives. They’d faced a killer clown together, and, at least for the moment, they’d won. (Deep down, they all new It would come back, but that was a problem for Future Richie.)

But this? He had no idea how’d they react, how things would change, or even if anything _would_ change. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna tell them. Not yet. Maybe one day.” _Liar._

“That’s ok, Rich. You don't have to tell them if you aren’t ready. Just, remember we love you, okay?”

Richie couldn’t help it; he started crying. Not the cute, halfway cry either. He was sobbing, loud and messy and snotty, and Bev held him in her arms. He clung to her like a lifeline, realizing distantly that she was crying too. 

Finally, he’d calmed down enough to where the tears were barely falling. His breathing was back to normal, he needed a tissue more than he ever thought he would (there was a joke there, for sure, but he wasn’t quite ready to make it.) Finally, he pulled himself out of Beverly’s embrace, squinting at her. 

“Aw, fuck. My glasses got all fogged up.” He took them off, aggressively cleaning at them as Bev laughed.

A long silence followed that. They both knew that, eventually, they’d have to leave. It was already starting to get dark, but neither wanted to get up.

“So,” Beverly stated, “I’m still curious. What _is_ Richie Tozier’s type?” 

Richie rolled his eyes. “Really? Back on this?” Bev just smiled. Richie sighed. Later, he would reason with himself that it was the adrenaline from his confession that made him admit, “Honestly? Asthmatics with fanny packs.”

He watched Bev from the corner of his eye as things seemed to click into place. A massive grin took over her. “For real?”

“Yeah, for real.”

Beverly let out an excited yell, pulling Richie into another hug. “Richie, that’s so fucking cute!”

“Shut up, it’s not!” He shoved her half-heartedly, but she held strong. “I mean, I know Derry isn’t exactly known for its hot guys, but of anyone, it had to be him!”

“What? Eddie’s a total cutie.”

Richie snorted, shoving her with his shoulder. She shoved him back. The conversation floated back to less serious topics, and Richie felt like his heart was going to burst. He’d been ready for the worst; rejection and tears and losing one of his best friends. But this? This was better than anything he could’ve imagined. 

After a while, the air grew chill and the sun was setting, the first hints of dusk creeping into the sky. The two stood without having to say anything, stretching out limbs that had gone tired from sitting for so long. Bev started up the path first; she didn’t like having the other Losers walk her home, just in case they ran into her father. Before she could go, Richie called out to her.

“Hey, Bev?” 

“Yeah, Richie?”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

She smiled softly and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m gonna miss you too, trashmouth.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“What’re you smiling about?” Bev’s voice pulled him out of his memory. Richie didn’t even know he was smiling.

“Just thinking about the last time we did this.” He gestured at the cigarette in his hand. “The day before you left.”

Recognition flashed across her face and she smiled. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Remember what I said about hot guys in Derry?” She nodded. “Yeah, well I fucking lied. There’s five of them, and they’re all Losers.” Beverly snorted. “Tell me I’m wrong! Look me in the eyes and _lie_.”

“You aren’t wrong!” When their laughter died down, Bev was looking at him with a fond smile. “You know, I still meant what I said. We all love you, no matter what.”

Richie squeezed the shoulder his arm was around. “Thanks, Bev.” 

Any more conversation was cut off by Beverly’s yawn. “I think I’m gonna try to get some sleep.” She took her hand off Richie’s knee as she stood, stretching. “You coming in?”

Richie shook his head. “In a minute.” 

Bev nodded, offering him a smile. “Good night, Rich.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the segment of this fic that I like to call: the author begins to project onto Richie. Also the timeline starts to jump around here.


	4. Memory is a funny thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a simple man. I see a Lost Boys poster in the background of a scene in Chapter 2, I incorporate it into my fic. Hyperfixation crossovers and whatnot

Bedrest, Eddie decided, was the _worst._ He’d been in the hospital plenty growing up. He’d even spent the night at one on the few occasions his mother would allow it. But this? This was some sort of new fresh Hell. 

In the 36 or so hours he’d been there (of which he’d only been awake for twelve of), he’d been allowed to leave his bed exactly four times, and only because he didn’t want to have to use the bedpan. He’d gone through all the channels on the small tv in the room (most of the channels were some form of news, sports, or reality shows, none of which Eddie particularly wanted to watch.) (He would, however, be lying if he said he didn’t get emotionally invested in a few episodes of The Bachelor.) He’d counted the tiles on the ceiling (there were 47 in total, a number that bothered him for reasons he couldn’t quite place.) He’d asked the nurse if they had any books, but all they had were books about vampires and romance, neither of which he particularly wanted to read about. 

Worst of all, he wasn’t allowed any visitors. 

The doctors had explained that, until he’d been monitored for 48 hours, they didn’t want to add the additional stress of visitors to his healing process. If it didn’t hurt to laugh, he would’ve _cackled._ He was stressed _now_ , with no one to talk to outside of Nurse Nancy (they were practically on a first name basis with how often she’d been checking on him.) 

So, with no visitors, nothing on TV, no books, and no more small talk with the nurses before it started to get weird, Eddie remembered. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late July 1989 

Eddie was incredibly, mind-numbingly, terribly bored. He was also completely, wholly, achingly lonely. 

After the Neibot incident, his mom had practically put him on house arrest. The front door remained firmly locked, and Eddie was only allowed outside to get his medication. Even then, he had a time limit, and if he wasn’t back in an hour, his mom would come storming into town to look for him. 

So, he sat in his room and tried to pretend he was having fun.

He read and reread all of his comics (most were gifts from Richie, and they were not what he would call literary masterpieces.) He listened to all his cassette tapes and even smuggled one of his mom’s audiobooks. (He quickly put it back where he found it after realizing just what kind of book it was.) He’d read the ingredients on the back of every bottle of soap in the house, and he’d watched more episodes of Wheel of Fortune than any 13 year old should ever have to watch. He even tried to make fun out of going to the pharmacy, but not being able to go too far off route, it was hard to even enjoy being allowed outside.

In the suffocating isolation of his house, with all other forms of distractions exhausted, Eddie was simply left alone with his thoughts. 

A couple of summers ago, right around the shift from pre-pubescent to pubescent, Eddie had concluded that being left alone with his thoughts was not good at all. 

The other Losers (at the time, there was only Bill, Stan, Richie, and Eddie) would talk about the cute girls in their classes, Richie’s jokes only growing lewder as time went on. Eddie tried to join in, he did, but his heart was never in it. For a bit, he thought maybe he was a late bloomer, but quickly came to realize that wasn’t quite it.

He first realized that maybe, just maybe, something was up on a seemingly innocent trip to the Aladdin Theater. It was the summer of 1987, and Richie had insisted the other Losers needed to come to see _The Lost Boys_ with him. They snuck into the theater one hot August day (a skill they’d grown exceptionally good at over the years), and settled into the back row, Richie talking their ears off about how he’d seen the movie three times now and it got better every time. More people shuffled into the theater, the smell of overly-buttered popcorn making the boy’s mouths water. Eventually, the house lights went down, and the movie started. 

Richie had been right, it was a good movie. Just scary enough that Eddie found himself clinging to Richie’s arm at several points, with enough humor and sweet moments sprinkled in to make it fun. By all accounts, it should have been just another movie. But something was different. Anytime one of the titular Lost Boys was on screen, a weird feeling began to make Eddie’s chest flutter. That _definitely_ wasn’t something that happened for the average movie. That weird feeling refused to go away, even as Eddie pointedly trying to ignore it, trying to focus on how cool the movie was. But it wasn’t going away, and by the end of the movie, Eddie was left thoroughly confused. 

As the boys left the theater, Eddie was able to shake off the feeling, talking animatedly with the others about the movie. Opinions were divided. Richie, of course, was praising the film, Eddie agreeing that it was all in all pretty good. Stan was neutral, not feeling any particularly strong emotions towards it, which, to be fair, was Stan’s usual reaction to most movies the Losers watched. Bill had claimed not to especially like it, which was met with Richie’s insistence that it’d be better on a second viewing, which, of course, meant the Losers once again found themselves in the Aladdin a week later, in the back of the theater, settling in for another viewing.  
  


In that week, Eddie had thought a lot about that weird fluttering in his chest when he saw those characters on screen. He’d chalked it up to nerves from not knowing what was going to happen next (and he’d blamed the especially _strange_ dream he’d had about David on just being hung up on how good of an antagonist he was, and how neat the effects on his fangs were. That was it.) So, he figured, the second time around that weird feeling wouldn’t be there. He knew the scares and the twist, so he was prepared. 

But that same feeling came back. It didn’t make sense, he knew what was going to happen. Sure, he was still scared of the more intense scenes, but he didn’t have the same fear of the unknown as last time. So why wasn’t that feeling leaving? 

In the weeks following, Eddie came to the terrifying conclusion that the fluttering in his chest when he thought back on that movie had nothing to do with fear. Quite the opposite. After that, Eddie tried to push those thoughts to the back of his mind. If he just ignored it, he wouldn’t have to listen to the voice in the back of his head telling him that he _liked boys._ So he locked those feelings in a metaphorical box, tucking them away in some dusty corner of his mind, never to be looked at again. 

That was, until one day in May of 1988. The Losers were celebrating a warm weekend after months of bitter Maine cold by swimming in the Quarry. The water was still veering on too cold to be comfortable, but it was no longer covered by a sheet of ice, and the boys were all too eager to get back into the water. They’d spent hours splashing around; playing chicken, dunking each other, shooting the shit as they lazily splashed each other. 

The sun had started to set, Eddie couldn’t feel his toes, and finally, it was time for the boys to head back home. They were staying at Stan’s that night, so there was no real rush on Eddie’s part, no threat of his mother screeching at him for coming home soaking wet and stinking like pond water. He milked every moment of it, soaking up the last of the sun’s rays as he and the others sat on the bank of the quarry. Richie and Stan were bickering, Eddie content to stay out of it for once, simply laying back, not realizing he was staring at his friends. His eyes unconsciously shifted to Richie, who hadn’t put his glasses back on just yet, squinting at Stan as he talked, waving his arms about as they continued to bicker. His hair was still wet, curls out in full force with the setting sun framing his silhouette, casting him in a golden glow, and all Eddie could think was _beautiful._

The box he’d so carefully tucked away burst open, lock clattering to the ground, and suddenly, Eddie couldn’t breathe. He sat up with a start, grasping around for his inhaler, distantly aware that the others had stopped, not even hearing Bill call his name. He fumbled with his fanny pack, hands shaking as he pulled out his inhaler. As he puffed on it, his mind began to spiral. He wasn’t - couldn’t - be thinking of Richie of all people as _beautiful._ It was one thing to feel attracted to characters on a screen or in comic pages, but _this?_ Eddie shook his head hard. It was just exhaustion from spending all day swimming, that had to be it. But then Richie’s hand was on his shoulder, asking ever so gently if he was okay, and Eddie had to take another puff of his inhaler, skin burning where the other boy was touching him. 

After that day, Eddie had fought tooth and nail against his absolutely-not-a-crush on Richie, but the other boy made that fight feel more like an uphill battle against an unstoppable force. The constant touches, the teasing, the nicknames. Eventually, Eddie was tired of fighting. He surrendered to it, allowing to admit to himself that he was, indeed, crushing on his best friend, but that didn’t make him _gay._ It was just hormones, and it’d fade within a week.

Lying on his bed in August of 1989, arm in a cast, staring into his popcorn ceiling, had come to the distressing conclusion that his crush on Richie hadn’t faded a bit. It’d been there since last year, for fucks sake. If anything, it has only grown stronger as time grew on, and Eddie hated it. 

It wasn’t that he hated Richie. The guy was his best friend, had been even before the Loser’s club had formed in 3rd grade when Bill had stood up to Bowers, and Richie had come to back up this total stranger. (They’d both gotten the shit beaten out of them, but a bond was formed that day that would hold strong for years.) Rather, he hated that, of all people to have an inconvenient crush on, it had to be Richie. Objectively speaking, he was the worst possible person for his brain to have chosen to fixate on. 

The other boy was constantly teasing ( _flirting,_ Eddies mind corrected, but he shot that down real quick. His feelings weren’t mutual; that much he knew), hands always finding a way back to Eddie, be it an arm slung around his shoulder, or a gentle squeeze of a hand when Eddie was particularly freaked out by a scary movie. Or grabbing his face, turning Eddie so he could only look at Richie as a killer clown approached, shouting what would be comforting words had the tone of his voice been any different. Thinking back on it now, Eddie’s face burned, his stomach doing silly little flips, but he knew it hadn’t meant anything. Richie was just being a good friend like he always was. For as obnoxious as he was, Eddie could see how much Richie cared for the other Losers. He’d stood up to Bowers and his gang for them more times than he could count, grinning and bragging about the punches he got in as Eddie bandaged his face, Stan rolling his eyes and quickly pointing out that he’d barely gotten one hit in (although the adoring tone his voice took on betrayed his seeming nonchalance). Bill wound counter Stan, saying that Richie landed at least one good hit, and, without fail, Eddie’s chest felt like it was going to burst with affection.

In short, Eddie was absolutely fucked. Richie was one of the straightest people he knew, constantly on about tits and girls and all the supposed game he had (the Losers all knew it was bullshit but entertained him anyway if only to poke holes in his stories and leave him blundering). He had no chance, knowing that if he expressed his affection, at best, Richie would reject him as gently as he could, probably with a few jokes at the expense of his mother thrown in for good measure. Eddie didn’t even want to think about the worst-case scenario. 

So, Eddie lay in his bed, trying desperately to think of anything but Richie. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a tap on his window. Eddie nearly leaped out of his skin, shooting out of his bed as he heard a second tap. Slowly, he made his way to the window, wondering what awful form It had decided to come to him in. 

What he saw was, honestly, maybe just as bad as a killer clown. 

Richie was standing in his backyard, a handful of pebbles in his hand, halfway through launching another one at Eddie’s window. When he saw the other boy, he promptly dropped the pebbles in time with the drop of Eddie’s stomach. 

Of course, he was glad to see Richie. _Any_ company was welcome, and Richie’s was especially cherished. But when they hung out it usually wasn’t immediately after Eddie was thinking about how completely head-over-heels he’d fallen for his friend. To say he wasn’t prepared was an understatement. 

The rock Richie had thrown hit Eddie’s window, causing him to jump before shooting a glare in Richie’s direction. Richie just smiled up at him, motioning for Eddie to unlock his window so he could climb in. Eddie pointed a thumb at his bedroom door, mouthing that his mother was home. Richie shook his head, folding his hands under his head, pretending to sleep. He was probably right; his mother usually clocked out at about 9, and it was nearly midnight. Eddie sighed, opening his window Richie’s smile somehow grew impossibly wider. 

Eddie turned around, straightening a couple of things in his room as Richie shimmied his way up to his window. He knew full well that his friend didn’t care about the state of his room, but his nerves were acting up, and he needed something to do with his hands. Behind him, Eddie heard his window close, and he turned around. Richie stood there, an elated expression on his face.

“You wanna tell me why you came over, or are you gonna stand there looking like an idiot?” This only made Richie smile more, a frustrated sigh being pulled from Eddie’s lips. 

“Well, it’d be a little awkward if you’re mom saw me coming back in. We finished up an hour ago, and she probably thinks I’m home.” Richie said with a wink.

“You’re so fucking gross.” Eddie lightly shoved Richie with his shoulder, causing the other boy to laugh, Eddie’s heart fluttering at the sound. God, he was a mess.

“You love it.” Richie shoved him back before slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulder. “Well, if you must know, I have a surprise to show you.” 

Eddie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean, other than you climbing through my window with literally no warning?” 

Richie scoffed. “Am I not allowed to want to see you?” Eddie felt his cheeks flush. _He didn’t mean it like that, just as friends._ “Besides, I threw rocks first. That’s at least like a 30-second heads up.” 

Eddie gave him another shove, rolling his eyes. “Alright, why’d you sneak over here, really?” 

From his back pocket, Richie pulled out a rolled-up comic, unrolling it to show Eddie the cover. “Holy shit! Is that-”

“The newest edition of Shazam?” Richie put on his best telemarketer voice, which, admittedly, wasn’t an exceptionally good one. “Your eyes don’t deceive you, this here is a genuine, one-of-a-kind comic! And now, for the low, low cost of letting me read over your shoulder, it can be yours!” He dropped the voice. “Well, not actually yours. This was like 5 bucks.” 

Eddie just rolled his eyes, taking the comic from Richie and plopping down on his bed, already beginning to read. 

“Hey! I haven’t even started it yet, dickwad. Scoot over.” Richie plopped down next to Eddie, grabbing a corner of the book as he scooted closer, until their sides were lined up, arms pressed together. Eddie ignored the burning of his cheeks as he felt Richie shift, moving his arm from between them to rest on the headboard behind them, almost wrapping around Eddie’s shoulders. 

The two sat side by side, waiting for the other to finish reading before turning to the next page, laughing, gasping, and making mindless banter as they read. As they read, Eddie felt his eyelids grow heavy, words on the page growing blurry. He fell asleep without even realizing it, head slumped against Richie’s shoulder. Had he been awake, he would’ve noticed Richie stiffen beside him. He relaxed after a moment, moving his arm from the headboard to wrap fully around Eddie’s shoulders, absently playing with the hair curling around the back of his neck as he read the rest of the comic. He may have even felt as Richie carefully maneuvered Eddie to a lying position, pulling his blanket up over his shoulders and, after much deliberation, pressing a kiss to his forehead before slipping out of Eddie’s window. But Eddie always had been a heavy sleeper, so he didn’t notice any of this. 

He did, however, notice the comic resting on his bedside table the next morning, a scrap of notebook paper poking out from about the middle of the book. Eddie opened it, unfolding the paper to find a handwritten note;

_I think this is about where you conked out. You can finish it- just make sure you give it back when you’re done, otherwise I may be forced to resort to drastic measures._

_-Richie (but you knew that. Who else would write this)_

Eddie smiled, putting the note back in the book, cradling the comic against his chest. Later, he would read it, though he wouldn’t be able to return it to Richie for another few weeks. For now, though, Eddie laid back against his pillows, something akin to hope blooming in his chest.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Late July 2016

Eddie woke to the sound of a blaring alarm (when had he fallen asleep?) and a nurse walking into his hospital room a few moments later, disgusting hospital breakfast on a tray. She sat him up carefully, situating the tray on the table resting across his lap. 

“You’re looking awful chipper this morning.” 

Eddie looked at her with surprise, before realizing that he’d been smiling when she walked in. He shrugged. “Just had a good dream is all.”


	5. Wanna Play A Game?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The obligatory truth or dare chapter.  
> This is kind of a vignette of sorts, and also an excuse for me to write platonic Stan and Richie bc they are my everything

June 1989

“Truth or dare.” 

A string of groans followed this suggestion.

“Ben, that’s, like, the worst possible game you could’ve suggested,” Richie said from his spot in the hammock, Eddie’s heel digging into his shoulder. He’d tried to shove it off several times, but Eddie was as stubborn as he was persistent. 

The Losers were sat in the clubhouse and had been going back and forth on games they could play to pass the day. They’d already done Monopoly (Mike had beat them all, though it was a tight match), Clue (Stan had decimated them), UNO (Eddie had won that one, and didn’t shut up about it for another twenty minutes, even after they’d set up Sorry). With their small supply of board games used up, they’d been shooting around other ideas for the better part of an hour. 

“I think it’d be fun.” Bev chimed in from the corner, snuffing out her cigarette into the dirt ground below her. Ben positively beamed at her as she made her way to the designated game corner in the clubhouse. 

“I thu-think so too.” Bill made his way to the game corner as well. Out of the corner of his eye, Richie saw Stan roll his eyes, muttering something along the lines of, _of course, you do_ before also joining the circle. Mike also made his way over, and the five looked expectantly at the two boys in the hammock. 

“You guys gonna play?” Mike asked, gesturing towards the circle. 

Richie let out a long, exaggerated sigh, throwing his head over the side of the hammock for good measure. “Fiiiiine. But I’m not moving.” 

That seemed like a good enough answer for the others. “How about you, Eddie? You in?” Bev asked. Eddie looked nervously between the group and Richie, sitting up a little straighter, as much as one can in a hammock.

“Well, if everyone else is playing. But if you give me any really nasty dares, I’m quitting. I’m not catching something for a stupid game.” The others nodded in false agreement. If anything, they took it as an open invitation to give Eddie the grossest dares they could think of. 

The game started slow, Ben getting the first pick since he was the one who suggested the game in the first place. It started about the way most games of truth or dare start; who do you have a crush on, I dare you to burp the alphabet, the usual. A notable dare was when Beverly was dared to spend the rest of the game talking in a cockney accent, followed immediately by her daring Richie to not use a single voice for the rest of the game. 

“What do you mean, not a single voice? I need a voice to talk!” 

“Yew know what I mean, govna’. Normal voice onley.” Bev retorted, her accent downright terrible, inciting a round of laughter from the group. 

The dares had gotten increasingly, well, daring as the game went on. Mike was dared to hold his breath for a minute straight (he managed to make it 45 seconds before having to gasp for breath), Stan was dared to sit upside down for a round (he’d kicked Richie and Eddie out of the hammock to do so, sitting in it upside down, and his face was red as a tomato within a minute), Eddie was dared to eat a handful of dirt, at which point he vowed to only choose truths from then on. 

Once Stan no longer had to be upside down, Richie had sat next to him in the hammock (he’d refused to get out, saying it was the only time he’d ever be able to sit there since he and Eddie were always hogging it, a point that Richie couldn’t exactly argue with). He could’ve been imagining it, but he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment across Eddie’s face when Richie had stood from his spot on the ground next to him. He shook his head, trying to clear his head of the thought. Why would Eddie be disappointed? 

“You okay?” Stan’s voice was quiet, drowned out by the sound of shouting as Bill was given an exceptionally outrageous dare ( _I can’t even do a huh-huh-handstand!_ ), concern written on his face.

“Yeah, I thought I felt a spider on my head.” Stan smirked, pointing at his shower cap. “Oh, shut up.” 

When it was Stan’s turn, he dared Richie to wear a shower cap for the rest of the game. 

In return, Richie dared Eddie to shove Stan out of the hammock, which he did, despite the cry of “I thought you were only doing truths” from Stan. Stan was, admittedly very gently, pushed out of the hammock, his spot quickly filled by Eddie, although Eddie was sitting much closer to Richie than Stan had been, legs and arms pressed together. 

After a long string of dares (although they were starting to calm down; there's only so much mischief you can get up to in a small clubhouse), Richie decided to break the cycle when Bill asked him truth or dare. “You know what, I’m gonna shake it up. Truth.”

“Is that the first time you’ve chosen truth?” Eddie asked, and, huh, he was right. Richie just shrugged.

“Alright, do you have a cuh-crush on anyone?” As soon as the words left Bill’s lips, Richie regretted his choice. He knew the question was coming, it was the obligatory first truth asked in any good game of truth or dare. Suddenly, he was too aware of the other Losers’ gaze trained on him, the feel of Eddie’s leg pressed up against his, and, wow, was it getting hotter in the clubhouse, or was it just him?

Richie swallowed his nerves, laughing. “Well, yeah. Who doesn’t?” 

“Who is it?” Bill asked, and Richie felt his palms start to sweat.

“Hey, it’s truth or dare, not twenty questions!” He said, maybe with a bit more force than necessary. Before any of the Losers could properly react, he turned to stan. “Stan the man, truth or dare?”

“Dare.” 

And so it was that Stan was dared to lick the wall of the clubhouse. 

The game continued, things going back to normal, as did Richie’s heart rate. He kept stealing glances at Eddie from the corner of his eye. Did he notice? Could he tell? There was no way, right? He was still next to him, sitting as close as ever. That wouldn’t happen if he noticed. Richie almost missed it when Eddie said his name, snapping out of his thoughts. 

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Richie said again, almost not realizing he had. If anyone could be trusted with truth, it was Eddie.

“Alright, who do you have a crush on?” Nevermind then.

“Fuck you, dare!” 

“I dare you to say who you have a crush on.” 

“What the fuck, no! That’s super lame.” Richie felt himself panic, the eyes of the Losers bearing into him. His palms were sweating again, and he wanted to curl up into a tight ball. Of course, it had to be Eddie who asked him, of _course_. Fate was playing a fat fucking joke on him, and Richie was not going to be the punch line. “Just ask me to eat a worm or some shit.” 

“Ok, fine! I dare you to eat a fucking worm!” Eddie sat back, a self-satisfied look on his face. He probably thought he’d gotten away with it- he’d backed Richie into a corner, making him have to admit his crush.

Instead, Richie stood up, digging around in the dirt for a moment before producing an earthworm, making direct eye contact with Eddie as he popped it into his mouth. Eddie looked ready to throw up, the other’s whooping as he tried his best to swallow the worm down. Turns out, having a wriggly thing in your throat isn’t a pleasant experience, and Richie gagged, mouth curling in disgust as the Losers laughed. 

“That’s so disgusting!” 

“Hey, _you_ dared me to do it!” Richie laughed, moving to get back on the hammock, only to be shoved away by Eddie. 

“No way! I’m not letting your nasty worm breath anywhere near me!” Eddie scooted away from Riche, but Richie only moved closer. 

“Oh, you mean _this_ worm breath?” He blew a puff of air at Eddie, causing the shorter boy to shriek, shoving Richie square in the chest.

“That’s so fucking gross! I can’t believe you did that, do you know how many _germs_ you just got on me!” He fumbled around in his fanny pack as Richie downright cackled at him. “Shit! Where’s my hand sanitizer?”

By this point, the Losers were in hysterics, Richie’s freak out about crushes forgotten. The game only lasted a few more rounds, before Mike announced that it was getting late, and he needed to get back to his grandfather’s house. The others agreed, one by one making their way out of the clubhouse. They walked as a group as long as they could, splitting off once they got out of the barrens. Bill, Ben, and Beverly all lived in opposite directions of all the other Losers, although more often than not, one of the two boys ended up walking Beverly back to her house. Eddie, Stan, and Richie had made a routine of walking back to their houses together. They all lived within a couple of streets of each other, with Eddie’s house coming up first, followed by Richie’s and then Stan’s. As they walked back, Richie made a show of teasing Eddie, still a little shaken up from earlier. Stan was quiet on the walk back, almost uncharacteristically so. When they dropped Eddie off at his house, it was with an exaggerated bow and a kiss to the knuckles from Richie, an uppity rich British voice accompanying it. He could’ve sworn he saw a blush on Eddie’s cheeks, but the other boy had squawked and shoved him away before he could get a proper look. _It’s just my imagination,_ he thought, watching as Eddie made his way into his house. 

He and Stan had only made it a couple of yards before the other boy stopped, grabbing Richie’s arm and pulling him away from the street towards the treeline behind the houses. Before he could get a word in edgewise, Stan had stopped them, hand still firm on Richie’s arm.

“It’s Eddie, isn’t it? Your crush?” Richie’s knees nearly gave out from under him, face turning white as a sheet. Fuck, he knew, how the fuck did he _know, why was he asking this._ “Richie?”

“What the _fuck_ ?” Richie pulled his arm away from Stan’s grip. “Where did you get that from? I’m not a _queer,_ Stan.”

Stan flinched at Richie’s words, looking down. “Sorry, I just thought-” He sighed. “It’s nothing. We should get home.”

“Well, hang on, clearly it’s not nothing if you dragged me all the way over here!” Stan frowned, and Richie heard him sniffle. Shit, this wasn’t good. “Stan, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” 

“it’s nothing. Let’s just drop it, okay?” Stan started to walk back towards the street, but Richie stepped in front of him, spreading his arms out. “Rich-”

“You dragged me way over here, clearly something is up. So, what’s wrong?” Maybe it was the lack of jokes or the seriousness in Richie’s tone, but something in Stan made him slump, wrapping his arms around himself.

“I just,” He took a deep breath, “I saw you freak out when Eddie asked you who you liked, and I thought maybe you were-” The ending of Stan’s sentence was too quiet to hear.

“I was what?” Suddenly, Stan was crying, and Richie reached out, putting his hands on his friend's shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “Stan, you can tell me, it’s okay.”

“I thought you were like me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but he may as well have shouted it. His words crashed into Richie like a ton of bricks.

“You mean you’re-”

“Don’t make me fucking say it! You aren’t, I was wrong, so let’s just fucking drop it, okay?” He tried to walk away, but Richie gripped his shoulders tighter. “Richie, let go of me.”

“He is. My crush, I mean.” Stan finally looked up from the ground, staring at Richie in shock. “You scared me, and I thought you were asking so you could make fun of me or something but. Yeah. It’s Eddie.” 

Stan looked at him for what felt like hours in silence before laughing. He was still crying a little, but he was wrapping his arms around Richie, and the two of them were laughing. 

“I thought you were gonna hate me.” Stan said between laughs, tears causing a wet stain to form on Richie’s shirt. “I’m not- I haven’t told anyone but you.”

Richie held him a little tighter. “Stan, you’ve been my best friend since we were three. Even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t hate you for that.” Richie laughed, a short half-snort. “Puts a new meaning to having boy talk, huh?” 

Stan laughed, finally pulling away from Richie, wiping his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Later, they would have a long conversation, where Stan would tell him that he still liked girls just fine, but he also liked boys. Richie would admit that he never really liked girls, but he was scared of himself for it. Stan would also tell him that he’d been nursing a crush on Bill for the better part of a year, and they would laugh, and they would cry, for how the world treated people like them. But that was later. For now, they walked back towards Stan’s house, each feeling safe in the knowledge that they weren’t alone.

____________________________________________

July 2016

Richie woke to find that he was crying, and the tears wouldn't stop coming. He didn’t bother sitting up, just curling to his side and clutching a pillow to his chest. He could scream. In fact, he did, burying his face in his pillow and letting out anguished cries until his throat was raw and his pillow was soaked through. Fuck that fucking clown, fuck this Godforsaken town for making them forget. Another wave of sobs hit him, but Richie didn’t have the energy to do more than let them roll through him. He clutched the pillow closer to his chest, cursing Pennywise into the night. It wasn’t fair. 

He hoped Stan had been happy before he took his bath. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was Stan. With a final sob, Richie slipped back into sleep. As he did, he swore he could hear someone saying _I was._


	6. Deja Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I've only ever been to the hospital like twice, so I'm fairly certain this is an unrealistic depiction of hospitals. Blame it on the fanfiction aspect.

July 2016

It had taken nearly three days, but the Losers finally got the call that Eddie was allowed to have visitors. Before they’d even hung up, Richie was nearly sprinting to his car, the others following close behind. They’d ended up taking Bill’s car to the hospital, seeing as it was the only one big enough to house five fully-grown adults. The whole way over, Richie tried to remember the breathing exercises his old therapist had taught him; four breaths in, pause, four breaths out. It really,  _ really  _ wasn’t working. None of them knew what to expect. Eddie was alive, and he was well enough to see them, but was he _ okay _ ? 

The drive to the hospital was a quick one, which Richie was immensely grateful for. The less time he had with his anxiety, the better. Finding a parking spot was easy. There weren’t many visitors to a small town hospital on a Tuesday afternoon. The club entered the hospital and after checking in with reception were taken to Eddie’s room. 

When Richie saw Eddie, it was like all the air in his lungs was sucked out all at once. Eddie lay on the hospital’s stark, white sheets, a bandage poking out from under the shoulder of his hospital gown, another on his cheek. It didn’t look like the wound was still bleeding, but that was hardly what Richie was focusing on. Eddie looked, well, he looked like he’d died down there for real. His skin was pale, the bags under his eyes dark against his skin, face scratchy with stubble that hadn’t been touched for a hot minute. He also looked like he was halfway to being asleep, barely acknowledging the others as they came into his room.

“Wow, you look like shit.” Richie said. 

Eddie turned his head to look at them, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Good to see you too, asshole.” 

Before anyone could say anything else, Richie was moving towards the bed, the others following closely behind. Richie fell into the chair right beside Eddie’s bed, Bev sitting at the foot of the bed, Ben standing behind her, Bill and Mike both standing near Richie.

“How’re you feeling, Eddie?” Bev asked, reaching over to squeeze Eddie’s leg. 

Eddie smiled, shrugging. “Well, I’d probably be worse if I weren’t on so many painkillers.” Everyone laughed, besides Richie, who was just staring at Eddie in silence. “Honestly, given that I was skewered a few days ago, I feel pretty good. Better now that I’m not being held in isolation.” 

Bev squeezed his leg again, smiling. After that, the conversation flowed freely; Eddie filling in the Losers on hospital life, smiling at the anecdotes from the past couple of days, the room feeling much lighter than any of them would’ve imagined. The only one who didn’t participate in the conversation was Richie, who was still sitting in silence, eyes still fixed on Eddie. No one commented on it, but there were many sideways glances thrown in his direction, as though they could all tell what was going through his head. Which, honestly, Richie would be happy to know what  _ exactly  _ he was thinking right now because the only coherent thought he could seem to form was  _ he made it. _

“When do you get to leave?” Richie was snapped out of his thoughts at Ben’s question, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. 

“They said they want to keep me for maybe another few days or so. Make sure this” he pointed at the gauze on his face, “doesn’t get infected again.” 

“Wait,  _ again _ ?” Richie said, finally snapping out of his weird daze enough to get back into the conversation.

“Yes, again. That’s what happens when you go into grey water with a stab wound, dipshit.” Eddie rolled his eyes, though the smile he was giving Richie was ruining the effect. “Don’t worry, they’ve got me on enough antibiotics to kill a horse.”

Bill laughed from the corner of the room. “Nuh-never thought I’d h-hear the duh-duh-day Eddie told one of us to not worry about inf-f-fections.”

Eddie laughed, throwing a “Shut the fuck up!” Bill’s way. The others joined in, laughing until their sides hurt and their eyes were watering. It wasn’t even a funny interaction, all things said and done, but it was that moment that they realized they were going to be okay.

“What are you going to do when you get out?” Mike asked, and one could almost feel the air get heavier after his question.

Eddie looked at his hands, folded neatly in his lap. He was frowning. “I, uh, hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Go back to New York, probably.” He wouldn’t meet any of the Losers’ eyes, staring intently at his hands. “Actually, um. This is gonna sound weird, but is it okay if I talk to Richie for a second? Alone?” 

Eddie was looking nervously out of the corner of his eye at Richie as he said this before shifting his gaze to the other Losers. Bev met his eyes with a knowing smile, causing Eddie to stare back down at his hands. She was the first to stand, taking Ben’s hand and heading towards the door. 

“Come get us when you guys are done talking, okay Rich?” She said, gesturing over her shoulder to the others. Mike and Bill began to follow, the four of them heading into the hallway. Eddie turned his head to fully look at Richie, and Richie hoped it didn’t show how nervous he was. He was still shaken up from seeing Eddie alive for the first time in days and was completely caught off guard by Eddie’s request. His palms were sweating, in part from how tightly he was gripping his jeans, trying to school his expression into something approaching normal as Eddie stared at him. His expression was soft, and  _ fuck, he knows.  _ Richie had almost begun to spiral, until Eddie smiled at him nervously, eyes flickering down to his hands. Slowly, he reached a hand out to Richie. 

Richie was frozen for a moment, just trying to process what was  _ happening.  _ Eddie was reaching for him,  _ why was he doing that, there’s no way he wants to-  _ He’d frozen for a moment too long because Eddie’s expression had fallen and he’d started to pull his hand away. Without even thinking, Richie was moving, taking Eddie’s hand in his own. Eddie’s eyes widened, and for a split second, Richie thought he’d taken this all wrong before Eddie’s grip on his hand tightened. 

“Richie, I-”

Eddie was cut off by the door to the hospital room flying open, making both men jump, although neither let go. When Richie saw the woman in the doorway, he was almost glad he didn’t let go. 

“Oh, Eddie-bear, look at you!” Myra was rushing to Eddie’s bedside, all but pushing Richie away as she pulled Eddie into his arms, ignoring his protests that she really shouldn’t be squeezing him, that she was  _ hurting  _ him as she pulled him closer. The other Losers were filtering into the room by now, but Richie barely even noticed, all his attention on Eddie’s wife. She was finally pulling away, hands still gripping Eddie’s shoulders like a vice. “Eddie, you  _ scared  _ me. When I got the call-” She stopped talking, finally looking around, as if she was noticing the other Losers for the first time, glaring at each with unbridled fury. “Eddie sweetie, are these the people who hurt you?” 

“Myra, that’s not-”

“Actually, we’re the ones who saved his life, so, you know. You’re welcome.” Richie interrupted, matching Myra’s glare with one nearly as intense. Her face was turning an impressive shade of red, and some deep-down part of him told Richie felt like he  _ should  _ be cowering away from this woman. As it was, he held his ground, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. 

Finally, she broke from his gaze, looking at the other Losers, who were still standing just inside the room, watching the scene unfold before them, all ready to step in if needed. “I think,” Myra began, grip tightening on Eddie, “you all should leave me with Eddie,  _ alone. _ ” When no one moved, she turned her attention back to Richie. “I’d like to have a moment alone with  _ my  _ husband.” 

The tension was nearly suffocating now, finally broken by Eddie’s voice. “Guys, it’s okay. I’ll catch up with you later.” They all recognized that tone; it was the same one he would use when his mother was non-gracefully trying to kick the Losers out, but they’d refused to leave. The tone he’d use when he was afraid of what would happen if they’d stayed. Just from that, the Losers almost didn’t leave, but there was something in Eddie’s expression that told them he was telling the truth. He was going to be okay.

Richie stood, finally breaking eye contact with Myra to look at Eddie. “See you soon, Eds.” Eddie smiled at him, nodding softly. Myra glared daggers at Richie through the whole interaction, but he ignored it, walking back to his friends. Together, they walked out of the hospital room, just barely catching the beginning of Myra’s judgment of their character as they closed the door.

Beverly slumped against the wall next to the door, Ben wrapping an arm around her shoulders as Bill leaned next to her. Richie absolutely couldn’t stand still, pacing around in front of his friends, muttering under his breath, mostly colorful curses towards Myra. His pacing was interrupted by a dry laugh from Bev.

“And here I thought I was the only one who married my parent.” She was the only one who laughed, Ben’s arm tightening around her. 

Before any of the others could react, there was a shout from Eddie’s room, followed by another, louder one.  _ “Eddie, you’re  _ **_lying!_ ** _ Take that back this  _ **_instant._ ** _ ”  _

Within seconds, Ben and Mike were rushing down the hallway to grab a doctor and maybe some security if needed, while Richie felt his blood run cold. He was already hurt, she was going to-

He didn’t even realize he’d been headed for the door until he felt Bev’s hand on his arm, pointing down the hall where a few doctors and a security officer were rushing towards Eddie’s room as the shouting grew louder. One of the doctors tried his best to usher the Losers away from the hallway, back into the waiting area, but that was a task easier said than done. They didn’t quite fight him, but he could tell they weren’t going to be going anywhere, especially after the door opened and they could hear the full extent of the fight. Or, rather, Myra sinking deeper into hysterics as she was dragged out of the room by the security officer and two other doctors. 

“ _ Eddie, take it back! Tell me you don’t mean it!  _ **_Eddie_ ** _!”  _ She was in tears by now, shouting down the hallway before being taken into a separate room, until she was either calm enough to leave on her own or it was decided that she’d be officially escorted out. The other doctors were still in Eddie’s room, although the door was still open. Hesitantly, the doctor in the hallway nodded, leading them to his room. One of the doctors looking over Eddie turned to them, telling them to leave before Eddie put a hand on his wrist. 

“It’s okay, they can stay.” The doctor looked at him with a mixture of shock and mild annoyance, before Eddie added on a, “please? Just for a few minutes?” The doctor looked between the Losers, Eddie, and the machines beeping at his bedside, sighing a bit as he stood, nodding at the Losers. 

“Just for a little longer. He needs to rest after that ordeal.” With that, the doctors began to move out of the room, Eddie looking at the Losers almost pleadingly. Richie was the first to step into the room, moving to take a seat back into the chair next to Eddie’s bed. The others shared a look, Bev nodding at Eddie before closing the door, the four of them heading back to the waiting room.

“You okay?” Richie almost reached for Eddie’s hand again, shoving them into his jacket pockets instead. 

Eddie shrugged. “As good as I can be, I guess.” A beat of silence passed, both men lost in their thoughts. Finally, Eddie broke the silence. “Hey, Rich, what I was saying earlier, I-”

“Is this an apology for what you said about my mother?” Richie’s voice was monotone, but the playful glint in his eyes was unmistakable.

Eddie sputtered for a moment. “Richie, I was  _ dying! _ ”

“And  _ those  _ were going to be your last words? Using your last breath to deface the good name of my mother?” 

Eddie laughed. “Not the only thing I was  _ defacing. _ ” He wiggled his eyebrows, and, for once, it was Richie groaning. 

“God, is this what it’s like talking to me?” Eddie nodded, and Richie sighed. “How did you guys not kill me?” 

“Honestly? I’m not sure.” 

Richie laughed, maybe a little too loud, but neither man seemed to mind. “Really though, Eds, those may have been the worst last words I’ve ever heard.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing they weren’t!” 

Richie knew Eddie didn’t mean anything by that, Eddie was just saying they weren’t his last words because he was up and talking now. But in his mind, he was back in the sewers. 

_ The others were rushing towards Pennywise, saying something about making him small, but all he could see was Eddie. There was so much blood, more spurting out with every breath Eddie took. Behind him, he heard the Losers start to shout at the clown, and, for just a moment, he turned from Eddie to shout his own insult at his childhood nightmare. He was ready to launch another one but felt Eddie’s hand tighten around his wrist. Richie turned his gaze back to his friend (his best friend, God, how had he forgotten Eddie?), who was staring at him intently.  _

_ “Richie, I need to tell you something.” _

_ “I know, you fucked my mom.” Richie said with a smile, hoping it was comforting, or even anything besides pained.  _

_ “No, dumbass, this is important.” Richie immediately shut up, taken aback by the urgency in Eddie’s voice, the intensity of his gaze. Eddie took as deep a breath as he could, gripping Richie’s hand tight, his other hand coming up to grab Richie’s shirt. “Richie, I lo-”  _

_ Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a sudden spasm, his hand falling from Richie’s shirt. Richie gripped Eddie’s shoulder, holding him steady as he watched the other man gasp for breath, face contorted in pain as though each breath was hurting him more than the last.  _

_ And that’s all it took. Richie promised he’d be back once it was done before rushing over, ripping the arm off of the clown (somehow, he knew it was the one that had gone through Eddie, and it felt almost like revenge). Then they were crushing Its heart, but Richie could barely feel the victory of killing It before his thoughts turned back to Eddie, a whole new nightmare beginning.  _

Back in the hospital, Eddie was laughing. “Yeah, I guess you have a point. As far as last words go, they weren’t exactly the most thought out.” He had a faraway look in his eyes, and Richie thought he’d remembered that moment, too. “Richie, I-”

“Is this something serious?” Eddie froze, looking down at his hands and nodding. Richie sighed, scooting his chair closer to the bed. “Eds, I wanna hear what you have to say, but not right now, okay? I mean, that shit with your wife? That’s probably enough serious shit to last for a week.” 

Eddie smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, you have a point.” As if on cue, a yawn escaped Eddie. “God, I didn’t realize I was this fucking tired.” 

“Shit, yeah, you probably need to rest. Sorry, I’ll-” Richie had started to stand but was stopped by Eddie’s hand on his wrist. 

“Can you stay?” Richie must’ve made some sort of weird face because color was rising to Eddie’s cheeks and he was refusing to meet his eyes. “Sorry, that sounds stupid. I just- I don’t want to be alone.” He shook his head. “It’s stupid. You can leave if you want.”

Richie shook his head, sitting back down. “I’ll stay.” 

Eddie looked like he was ready to cry at that, a relieved smile on his face. “Thanks, Rich. I, um, if I fall asleep, you don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to.”

“Okay.” Richie grinned. “You’re snoring is enough to drive me off, don’t you worry.”

Eddie glared at him. “I do  _ not  _ snore!” 

“You did when we were kids, I don’t think that’s gonna change.” 

Eddie’s glare didn’t leave, but his hand reached for Richie’s, and he took it gladly, squeezing it. Finally, Eddie’s glare broke, and he gave Richie an almost impossibly soft smile before settling back into his pillows, closing his eyes, fingers still interlaced with Richie’s. And if Richie saw a few tears slip from the corners of Eddie’s eyes, well, he wasn’t going to mention it.

_____________________________________________________________________

Late June 1991

The Losers stood in mild shock as the door to the Kasbrack residence was slammed in their faces, Sonia’s shouts carrying into the street from behind the wooden door. Richie’s blood was boiling, and he had half a mind to go storming back into the house. But Sonia had made it clear they weren’t welcome, and Eddie had all but begged them to listen to her. 

Richie was the first to break off from the group, stomping away in a way that could be described as dramatic. He was beyond furious, she wasn’t supposed to yell at him like that. For fucks sake, it wasn’t even Eddie’s  _ fault.  _ Richie had been the one stupid enough to step into the backyard to smoke (maybe Eddie was right, it was becoming a bit of a problem), and Eddie had just happened to follow him out to make sure he was okay. How was he supposed to know that was the moment Sonia would be coming home from work? If it wasn’t for him, the Losers wouldn’t have been kicked out, and Eddie wouldn’t be being screamed at for  _ no fucking reason.  _

Richie stormed into his own house, slamming the front door closed harder than necessary (neither of his parents was home to yell at him about it), all but sprinting up the stairs, slamming his door, locking it behind him before throwing himself onto his bed. He felt like he was going to cry, and may have even started to, but he wouldn’t have noticed. God, he was so fucking  _ stupid.  _ He wanted to rush back to Eddie’s house to take the most of his mother’s rage. 

Realistically, he knew Eddie was safe. His mother would never put a hand on him, but she  _ could  _ lock him in the house; she’d done it before. That was an unbearable thought - it was bad not being around him that summer, but now? Richie wasn’t sure he’d be able to take it. Not having Eddie around felt weird at best. Not seeing his smile, or hearing his stupid laugh, or lectures about all the health issues Richie was giving himself with his love of greasy foods and dirty lakes. He really,  _ really  _ liked having Eddie around, and if Sonia locked him up again-

Richie let out a strangled cry, taking his smokes out of his pocket and throwing them against the wall. Eddie was being screamed at, he was being threatened with having his friends taken away from him, and it was all  _ his fucking fault.  _

Richie wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there berating himself for getting Eddie in trouble, but by the time he heard the front door open, signaling the return of at least one of his parents, the sun had gone down. 

“Richie, I got Chinese!” His mother called up the stairs. His stomach made a desperate noise at that, but he knew he couldn’t let his mother see him like this. A glance in his mirror showed red, puffy eyes (when had he started crying? Why the fuck was  _ he  _ crying). He looked like a mess, and he didn’t want to have to answer all his mother’s questions. She’d no doubt fret over him, trying to get him to tell her what was wrong, and he  _ really  _ couldn’t deal with that right now.

“I’m not hungry!” He shouted back.

“Richard, what did I tell you about yelling down the stairs?” She shouted up at him. Richie rolled his eyes, getting up to go to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on his face. He shouldn’t be acting like this. Eddie was the one who was in trouble, not him. 

Shaking his head, Richie made his way back to his room, and let out what some may describe as a shriek. At his window was Eddie, frowning as he tried to open the locked window. He was in the middle of launching an impressive string of curses at it when he saw Richie, tilting his head to get him to come to the window. Richie did, unlocking it and sliding it open.

“Fucking Hell, Eds. You can’t just show up at someone’s window without warning.” Richie walked back to his door, making sure it was locked as Eddie climbed through his window. 

His dad had caught Stan in his room one time, the other boy having climbed through the window with a backpack at midnight, determined to get Richie to work on the group project they had together. After that, Richie’s father had all but thrown Stan to the curb, shouting at Richie to not sneak his friends in. This didn’t stop him from letting them, but he now made sure his door was securely locked whenever one of them stopped in for a surprise visit. His mom didn’t particularly care either way, though it was better to be safe than sorry. 

“You do it to me all the time, asshole.” Eddie had his back to Richie as he closed the window, not locking it. Richie was preparing a snappy comeback when Eddie turned around, and the words died in his throat. His eyes were red and puffy, nose still running a bit and he was sniffling. 

“Shit, Eddie, are you-” He was cut off when Eddie walked over to him, wrapping his arms around Richie’s shoulders in a tight hug. For a moment, Richie was frozen, heart pounding against his chest, a blush rising to his cheeks.  _ Not the time,  _ he scolded himself, before finally moving to hug Eddie back. “What happened?”

A choked sob came out of Eddie, and Richie held him just a little tighter. “My mom, she-” Eddie was cut off by a loud sob, half caught in his throat. After a moment, he pulled away from Richie, rubbing furiously at his eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

Richie grabbed Eddie’s shoulders, not hard, but enough to hold Eddie in place. “Hey, it’s okay. C’mere, let’s sit down, okay?” Richie wasn’t the person to go to for comfort, but he was trying his best to remember what Stan or Mike would do for him when he was like this. Eddie moved to sit on the edge of his bed, and Richie sat beside him, rubbing circles on his back. “Do, uh, do you wanna talk about it.” 

Eddie buried his face in his hands, shaking a little. “It’s fucking stupid. It’s just, my mom, she tried to...fuck, man, she tried to lock me in again.” Another sob wracked his body, and Richie kept rubbing his back, hoping it was working. “She said I couldn’t see you guys, especially not you, and I just. I fucking lost it, Richie.” 

“Lost it how?”

Eddie finally looked over at Richie, tears welling in his eyes, but a sense of pride in them, too. “I told her...I told her she was wrong, and that I’d still see you guys anyway. She started screaming at me and I just fucking screamed back.”

Richie’s eyes widened, a grin forming without his permission. “Holy shit, you did?”

Eddie nodded, grinning back. “I did, yeah.” 

Richie was smiling now, pulling Eddie into a half-hug, half-headlock. “I knew you had it in you, Eddie Spaghetti! I’m so proud! My little boy is becoming a man!”

Eddie shoved him away, laughing. “Shut up, dickwad. And don’t call me that.” A moment later, Eddie’s smile faded. “I, um, I kinda stopped yelling, after a bit though. She started calling you names, all of you guys, but, uh, she was...she was especially focused on you.”

Something about the way Eddie said that made Richie’s heart leap into his throat, blood running cold. Did she know? Did she tell him? He forced a laugh, hoping it covered his panic. “She also worried I’m gonna get cancer or whatever?”

Eddie looked away, looking down at his hands. “She’s more worried about  _ me  _ getting it from all the second-hand smoke. She called you a chimney and a health hazard.” He said with a small laugh. “She, uh, I couldn’t argue with that one.”

Richie laughed, heartbeat returning to a semi-normal rate (or, as normal as it could be around Eddie). “Come on, I’m not  _ that  _ bad.” 

“Agree to disagree, Rich.” He met Richie’s gaze long enough to roll his eyes but quickly looked away. “She also said, um, she said some other stuff.”

Richie’s heart was back in his throat. How the fuck did she  _ know?  _ Only three people knew for sure. One was dead (at least, he assumed, and fuck was that weird to think about), and the others weren’t even  _ in _ Derry anymore. “W-what did she say?” Fuck, he sounded nervous.  _ Guilty,  _ his mind supplied,  _ you sound guilty.  _

“She...it’s not important. I think she was just making things up, trying to get me to stay away from you guys.”  _ Away from you  _ went unspoken. “Look, just, forget I said anything. It’s nothing, I promise.”

“If you say so, Eds.” Richie still wasn’t calm, but he was more than happy to let the topic be dropped, his breathing almost returning to normal. But he didn’t want to risk it being brought up again, so instead, he said, “Hey, my mom got Chinese on her way home. I was gonna get some noodles if you want any.” 

Eddie nodded. “I haven’t eaten yet, so.” After the Gazebo incident, Eddie had become much more open to eating as Richie called it  _ normal people food,  _ although his mother still insisted he was allergic to pretty much any food that wasn’t a vegetable. 

“Be back in a moment, ‘old chap!” He put on his British accent, hoping it covered for how quickly he was leaving the room. His mind was racing, wondering if he was overthinking. There was no way Sonia knew. Sure, he was flirty with Eddie, but he always toned it down around her. Even if it was just jokes, he didn’t want her to think  _ that.  _ He knew Stan wouldn’t tell, so, unless maybe- Bowers. Fuck, Bowers was probably told everyone about that summer and the arcade. They all fucking knew, and-

“I’ll ask Richie, but Eddie didn’t come to our door.” His mother was saying into the phone, and Richie froze in place. Of course, Sonia would call, Eddie was gone.  _ Please don’t say anything, please. She can’t know,  _ **_please._ ** Richie didn’t know who he was directing his thoughts at, but he was repeating them as he moved towards the kitchen. 

“Of course, Sonia. I’ll let you know if he’s called.” Another pause, and Richie moved towards the fridge, pulling out the take out containers. They hadn’t been there long, as they were still a little warm. “Well, you know Eddie. I’m sure he’ll be back before morning.” She turned to face Richie when he opened the fridge. “One second.” She pulled the receiver away from her mouth, keeping the phone next to her ear. “Richie, have you heard from Eddie? He’s not at home, and Sonia doesn’t know where he is.”

Richie shrugged, pulling out two forks from the drawer, hoping his mother wouldn’t notice. “Well, the phone didn’t ring until now, so, no.”

She covered the receiver with her hand, stage whispering at him. “There is  _ no  _ need for that kind of attitude.” She took off her hand, talking back to Sonia. “Sorry, Richie hasn’t heard from him.”

Before he could hear more of their conversation, Richie was making his way up the stairs, meal in hand. He came into his room to find Eddie sitting on the edge of his bed, uncharacteristically still. Richie handed him the container of noodles and a fork before moving to lock the door. When he turned around, Eddie had opened the box but wasn’t eating, just poking at the noodles with his fork. 

Richie joined him on the bed, picking up his own fork and stealing his own scoop.  _ Weird,  _ Richie thought,  _ he never lets me steal food from him.  _ Richie stared at Eddie as he slurped his noodles, perhaps a bit louder than necessary, just to get a rise out of him. But Eddie barely even acknowledged him. His nose wrinkled in disgust at the noise, but that was about it. Richie frowned, studying his friend’s expression. 

Eddie’s whole body was tense, looking like a rubber band stretched too far, ready to snap at any moment. He had a faraway look in his eyes, which were still wet and red, and though his nose had stopped running, it was still red from rubbing at it. He hadn’t seen Eddie this upset since...Richie couldn’t actually remember if he’d  _ ever  _ seen Eddie like this. 

Richie hated seeing Eddie like this. Every fiber of his body was aching to reach out and comfort Eddie, hold him in his arms as his friend let out whatever he was holding in. Instead, he bumped Eddie’s shoulder with his own, putting on his dopiest grin. “Hey, Eddie spaghetti, I just realized. You’re a cannibal.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re eating spaghetti. So, cannibal.” Richie pointed at the chinese in Eddie’s hand for emphasis, grinning wildly at the other boy.

“This isn’t spaghetti, dumbass. And don’t fucking call me that.” Eddie shoved Richie with his shoulder, trying his hardest to not grin at the other boy, covering it with an eye roll instead. Richie threw his head back and laughed before grabbing for the noodles. Eddie grinned, pulling them away from Richie, hunching over the box. “These are for people who actually know that not every noodle is spaghetti.”

“I  _ got  _ them! Went downstairs and had to deal with my mom on the phone and everything, I think I deserve to get some!” Richie was still reaching for the noodles when Eddie’s body language changed again, the little bit of tension he’d released coming back. Richie took the moment to grab the box from his hands, hoping it would be enough to keep him from going back to being upset.

“Richie, you dick!” He cried, though he made no move to grab the box back. Eddie sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. Richie saw a tear starting to make its way down his cheek, but Eddie was wiping it away before it could go too far.

“They’re only noodles, Eddie.” Richie said in his best Kiefer Sutherland impersonation, giving him his best shit eating grin. This seemed like the opposite of what Eddie needed to hear, because a fresh wave of tears hit him. “Shit, here. You can have them back.” 

Richie held the box out to Eddie, who stared at it like Richie was offering him a box of worms. “Richie, this isn’t about the fucking noodles.” Eddie snapped, grabbing the box of noodles and slamming it down onto Richie’s bedside table with way more force than necessary. “It was my mom calling, right?”

Richie almost didn’t hear the question, caught completely off guard by Eddie’s sudden anger. He nodded, and Eddie’s face twisted into something like pain. “Hey, it’s okay. She doesn’t know you’re here, I told my mom that I didn’t know where you were. Even if she comes over, you can hide in my closet or something, it’s gonna be-”

“Richie, I’m about to freak out.” Richie was about to ask what he meant when Eddie grabbed a pillow from off his bed, shoving his face into it and just  _ screaming.  _ Eddie screamed and screamed, and Richie knew his voice would be all but gone the next morning, but he didn’t  _ stop.  _ Richie was frozen next to him, not just unsure of what to do, but scared that if he did anything it would make things worse. So he watched as Eddie screamed into his pillow until his voice gave out, and he threw it across the room to hit the opposite wall, before putting his head in his hands, pulling tight at his hair as he sobbed. 

Finally, Richie was pulled out of his trance. “Hey, don’t-”

“Don’t  _ what,  _ Richie?” Eddie all but spat out the words. “Don’t  _ cry?  _ What do you expect me to fucking do!?” 

Even if Eddie couldn’t see it, he could probably feel how hard Richie had flinched. “Don’t pull at your hair like that.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he gently put his hands on Eddie’s arms, pulling them away from his head. Eddie’s head snapped up at the touch, eyes wide and filled to the brim with tears. 

Before Richie could react, Eddie was leaning into his chest, gripping his shirt like a vice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- I shouldn’t have-” His voice broke down into sobs, his whole body shaking with the force of them. Eddie’s breath was coming out in short, sharp breaths, his face turning bright pink. Without even thinking about it, Richie moved to unzip the fanny pack around Eddie’s waist, pulling out his inhaler and pressing it to the other boy’s lips, squeezing down and releasing the fake medicine down Eddie’s throat. Eddie grabbed it from him, taking two more puffs in quick succession, not leaving his spot curled up into Richie. 

Richie wrapped his arms around his friend’s skinny frame, holding him in an embrace that could easily be broken. Eddie had calmed enough that his breathing was no longer coming out in pants, but he was still crying, staring blankly down at the inhaler in his hands. He didn’t move away though. Instead, he leaned closer to Richie, dropping the inhaler in his lap, grabbing Richie’s arm and pulling it tighter around him. 

For once, neither boy felt like they needed to speak. Both their thoughts were racing at a million miles an hour, but neither wanted to break this spell that had come over them. Eddie’s head was resting on Richie’s chest, Richie’s face buried into Eddie’s hair (it had gotten longer, curling up at the edges now), both with their arms tight around each other. It was no secret that they’d cuddled before; what they did in the hammock when the Losers were all gathered in the clubhouse (and when it was just the two of them) couldn’t be described as anything but. This, though, this felt different, and they both knew it. It felt like the start of  _ something,  _ something that neither boy wanted to, nor was ready to put a name to. 

It felt like hours, maybe even days had passed before Eddie was pulling away, rubbing the back of his hand under his nose, before looking down at it in disgust. “That’s so gross. I probably got some of that on you, you should probably change.” Richie couldn’t even think of a response before Eddie was up, heading towards the door. “I’m gonna go wash my face.” 

Then Richie was alone in his room, sitting on his bed, staring dumbly at the door. His side was still warm from where Eddie was pressed against it, and the space between his arms felt empty. He sat there in a daze until he heard the water start running in the bathroom. Looking down, he realized Eddie was right, there was a large wet patch of what was probably a mix of tears and snot on his shirt, and, yeah, it was pretty gross. He pulled it off, tossing it into one pile of laundry and pulling a (most likely) clean shirt from another pile. While he was up, he also changed into a pair of pajama bottoms, but didn’t move once he had them on. 

It was as if someone had flipped a switch in his mind as he stared dumbly at the spot on his bed where, just moments before, he and Eddie were sat, curled into each other for who knows how long. Richie flushed, heart racing as he wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling nervous. They’d been so close- he could still smell Eddie’s shampoo, still felt the phantom embrace of the other boy. He could see it clearly, how easy it would be to lean down, to cradle Eddie’s face in his hands, leaning in and-

Richie shook his head hard, nearly dislodging his glasses in the process. It wasn’t like  _ that,  _ he told himself. Eddie was just upset and needed someone to comfort him. Richie was always the one Eddie had come to, even though all he was really good at was distracting Eddie with enough gross out jokes until they’d both forgotten what Eddie was upset about in the first place. There was nothing else to it, this was  _ normal.  _ Eddie was just having it worse than usual, and things would be fine when he came back into the room. They’d go back to their banter, and neither would bring up this night again. Nothing about this was different, and Richie shouldn’t be seeing it like that. He was so fucking  _ selfish,  _ thinking things like that, especially when Eddie had just cried his eyes out. Eddie didn’t even think of him like that in the first place, and this wouldn’t change anything. 

Richie grabbed the forgotten noodles from his bedside table (they’d gotten cold, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing a forkful before closing the box), making his way downstairs as quietly as he could. A quick glance at the clock on the wall of the kitchen told him it was well past his parents bedtime, and his parents would be pissed if he woke them up at this hour. So he opened the fridge as quietly as he could, putting the container of noodles in its rightful spot, between the fried rice and sesame chicken. As he closed the door, he took a deep breath, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind. He knew what his panic attacks looked like, and he couldn’t afford to have one now. Eddie would ask what was wrong, Richie wouldn’t have an answer, he’d end up crying, and, really, there’d already been enough of that tonight. 

Back upstairs, Richie opened his bedroom door to find Eddie curled up on his bed. He was in a pair of Richie’s pajamas (which translated roughly to sweatpants and a faded band shirt), which were practically hanging off of him. He was above the covers, half asleep already. Eddie didn’t even acknowledge Richie as he came into the room, instead nuzzling further into the pillow he was resting on. Richie knew he had to be blushing, his heart melted at the sight. He stepped out of his room long enough to grab a blanket and pillow from the linen closet, closing his door as he set up a little sleeping area on his floor. 

Behind him, he heard Eddie laugh. “Hey, idiot, there’s enough room on the bed for both of us. If you sleep down there, you’re gonna give yourself back problems.” 

“There’s barely enough room up there for me by myself.” Richie kept his back turned to Eddie, face burning. They used to share the bed all the time as kids, but things were different now that they were older. And he was right, his bed was too small for him these days, but it wasn’t like he could ask for a new one. 

A (perhaps overly) dramatic sigh came from behind him, followed by fabric rustling. “See? There’s enough room.” Richie turned to see that Eddie had pushed himself flush against the wall, leaving a good portion of the bed open.

Richie laughed, furiously ignoring the fluttering in his chest. “Jeez, Eds, if you wanted to sleep with me so bad, you could’ve just asked.” He was met with a pillow to the face. 

“Shut the fuck up, trashmouth. I’m trying to save you from having back pain for the rest of your life. Just get up here, asshat.” Richie could’ve sworn he saw a blush on Eddie’s cheeks, quickly dismissing it as a trick of the mind and the dim lighting in the room.

“Alright, alright. But don’t get mad when I start kicking you in my sleep.” He laid down on his bed, slipping beneath the covers. Technically, they could both fit, but they were so close that their sides were pressed together, and Richie was pretty sure if Eddie was under the covers as well, he’d probably explode. 

As if some trickster God had heard his thoughts, Eddie slipped beneath the covers, and Richie decided that the universe had it out for him. Before he could internally implode, he rolled over so his back was to Eddie, but the other boy’s arm was still pressed against him, his back practically burning at the contact. Neither moved, Eddie’s breath slowing enough to let Richie relax. 

“Hey, Richie, can I tell you something?” Richie tensed, doing his best to pretend he was asleep. “I know you’re awake, dumbass. You snore.”

“I do not snore, you dick.” Richie turned to lay on his back, finding Eddie on his side, staring at him. The other boy quickly looked away. “I was almost asleep, so this better be important.” Richie said, hoping his nervousness didn’t come through in his voice. His heart was threatening to beat straight out of his chest. 

Eddie was silent for a beat, licking his lips nervously. “It’s really stupid.”

Richie moved to his side, facing Eddie fully. “Hey, you’re talking to the king of saying stupid shit. Lay it on me, Eds.” 

“Don’t call me that, dick.” Eddie sighed, looking at the space between them, his hand pressed against the mattress between their chests. “Don’t laugh, okay?” 

Richie nodded, reaching for Eddie’s hand without even thinking, placing his hand on top of the other boy’s. Eddie turned his palm upward, lacing their fingers together.

“I just...I still love her. My mom, I mean. After all the shit she’s put me through, I should hate her. Sometimes, I really wish I  _ could  _ hate her, but I can’t. I keep telling myself she’s doing what’s best for me, you know? And I feel so  _ stupid. _ ” Eddie’s grip on Richie’s hand tightened, refusing to meet Richie’s gaze.

For a long moment, neither boy said anything. Richie just stared, until Eddie started to fidget under his gaze, and he realized he hadn’t said anything. “Hey, that’s not stupid. She made you think you were sick, but she did it because she thought it was best for you. That’s not something you can just shake off.”

Eddie let out a soft laugh, finally meeting Richie’s gaze. “I didn’t know you were a shrink.”

Richie shrugged as best he could. “Stan’s rubbing off on me.” He winked, and Eddie  _ laughed,  _ a real laugh for the first time that night, and Richie started laughing too. 

When the two boys had calmed down, Eddie was smiling at him, soft and gentle. He had tired written all over his face, but his eyes were bright, full of affection ( _ love  _ flashed through Richie’s mind, too fast to even notice). Richie couldn’t take it, looking away from Eddie’s face to their hands, fingers linked in a tight embrace. 

“I’m gonna get you out of here, Eddie. Once we turn 18, we’ll pack our shit, and I’ll drive us away from here.” Richie squeezed Eddie’s hand tighter, refusing to look at his face, even when he heard a quiet gasp escape the other’s lips.

“Where would we go?” Eddie breathed, voice barely even a whisper. 

“Doesn’t matter. Anywhere but here.” Richie paused, thinking for a moment. “We could go to Bev, maybe. Yell at her for not writing.” 

Eddie laughed, and Richie could tell he was rolling his eyes. “You don’t need me to do that.”

Richie finally met his gaze, finding Eddie’s eyes wide, a small smile across his lips. “Yeah, but it’d be better if you were with me.” 

Something strange happened then. Eddie’s smile faded, staring at Richie as though he’d just told him the earth was flat. It was unmistakable now, the pink of his cheeks, and for just a fraction of a second, Richie could swear his face was getting closer. Richie’s breath hitched, and Eddie seemed to snap out of something, pulling back just a little. “Nice one, Rich.” 

Richie was reeling from Eddie’s sudden change in tone. He felt Eddie’s grip loosen on his hand, starting to pull away, but Richie pulled the other’s hand closer. Eddie’s grip tightened again, and Richie rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb.  _ It’s not a joke _ , he wanted to say.  _ I’d run away with you, all you’d have to do is ask.  _ It was right on the tip of his tongue, it’d be easy to say it. Instead, Richie swallowed, eyes glued to their hands. “We should sleep.”

Eddie nodded. “You aren’t gonna go back to the floor, right?”

Richie looked Eddie in the eyes, squeezing his hand tighter. “I’ll stay, right here.”

_____________________________________________________________________

July, 2016

Richie was right. Eddie did snore.


	7. A Weight Off His Chest

July 2016

On the ride back from the hospital, Mike had suggested that the Losers go out to dinner.

“To celebrate.” He’d said, and they all understood. 

Between the near-death of Eddie and finally being able to properly mourn the actual death of Stan, none of them had been able to really let their victory soak in. Pennywise was gone, for good this time. Derry was finally safe. Everything in the town felt  _ lighter,  _ as though a heavy fog had been lifted. When they walked from the Inn to the local Italian place Mike had suggested (they’d received notice that all six of them were permanently banned from the Jade Of The Orient, news that phased none of them), people actually  _ smiled  _ at them. People didn’t smile at you in Derry unless they absolutely had to.

So they walked into the restaurant, taking up a whole corner, with several tables pushed together to accommodate them. In the candlelit restaurant, couples were staring at each other lovingly over glasses of wine, families were laughing, and old friends were reuniting. 

“So, I wanted to let you guys know, I’m working on a new book.” Bill started, grabbing the attention of the whole table. “I think you guys are really going to like it.”

“Sure, up until the ending.” Richie joked, and even Bill laughed. 

“Not this one.” He smiled at them. “This one has a good ending.” 

Eventually, food was ordered, a bottle of wine was popped open, and it was like things were normal again. Bill’s arm was slung over the back of Mike’s chair, and Bev and Ben’s hands were linked, resting on the table. 

“Wait, when the fuck did  _ this  _ happen?” Richie pointed at their hands, and Ben blushed, taking a large sip from his wine glass.

“A few days ago? Right after the fight, really.” Bev said, smiling over at Ben. “Took us long enough.” She leaned in to peck Ben on the cheek, him kissing her full on the lips in return.

“Get a room!” Bill shouted, but he was grinning at them. “I’m happy for you guys.” 

“Ah, yes, nothing like a psychotic clown to bring people together.” Richie said, tipping his glass towards the couple. “To Pennywise, the matchmaker.” 

“Beep beep, Richie!” Bev threw a roll at him, hitting him square on the forehead before bursting into laughter. She giggled into her wine glass, and Richie gave her a half-hearted glare before taking a bite out of the roll. 

“Holy shit, that's good!” Richie exclaimed, reaching for another one, causing a round of laughter from the group. 

Conversation came naturally after that. No one brought up the clown, and Eddie was mentioned only in light ways, no one wanting to mention the hospital. Mike recalled the story of how his cousin from out town had taken over his grandfather’s farm after he’d gone, as he called it, ‘a little research-crazy,’ and that the farm was now supplying wool and meat to towns all over Maine. (Mike would still stop by on occasion, helping to shear the sheep, but never anything more.) 

Ben told the story of his rise to moderate fame in the architecture world, after one of his designs had been picked up by a major building company and was reproduced in neighborhoods across the country. “Everything else was a bit of an accident, honestly.” Ben had told them. “I was actually working on some poems when that all happened- Richie, stop laughing!”

Richie only laughed harder, while Bill looked at Ben, the telltale look of a Denborough plan in progress on his face. “I didn’t know you still wrote p-poetry.” 

Ben blushed a little. “Yeah, y’know, it was just one of those things to keep me grounded.” 

Bill leaned over the table, staring straight at Ben. “We should collab sometime. I could get some of your work published if you want.” 

“You’d really do that?” Bill nodded, and Ben looked at him like he’d just hung the moon. 

Later, Bev had explained her role at her fashion company, which led to Richie immediately asking her to rate all of their outfits. 

“Richie, you’re wearing a Hawaiian shirt under a leather jacket. I wouldn’t even know where to begin with that.” 

Richie clutched at his chest, letting out a wail. “Bev, you wound me! This is the height of fashion.” 

“You keep telling yourself that.” She took a smug sip from her wine glass as Bill nearly choked on the lasagna he was eating, completely caught off guard by his laughter. 

Once they were sure Bill was able to breathe again, the conversation turned to smaller, side conversations among the table. Richie didn’t make a real effort to involve himself in any of them, sitting back and just taking it all in. He was so sure they were going to die below Derry; he’d seen it happen when he was caught in the deadlights. But here they were, Mike laughing heartily at something Beverly had said that Richie hadn’t quite heard, Ben staring at her like he’d finally found something he’d lost years ago and never thought he’d see again, Bill not bothering to hide his absolutely beaming smile. It was surreal, in a way Richie had never imagined. They were all here, and they were all so full of  _ life.  _ They’d left an empty place at the table for Stan, and Richie could almost see him there, all ghosty and spectral, looking at them with a proud grin. He gave his own smile to the empty chair, hoping that wherever Stan was, he could see it. 

“Richie, are you okay?” Ben asked, silence enveloping the table, all eyes on Richie. “You’re crying.”

Richie touched his cheek, hand coming away wet. When had he even started crying? “Yeah man, I’m all good. Just, shit, guys I’m really happy. We did it.”

Mike raised his glass. “Cheers to that.” 

The others followed suit, clinking their glasses together. 

“To killing Pennywise.” Bev said.

“To saving Derry.” Bill followed up.

“To the future.” Ben finished, and with that, the group drank. 

“Speaking of which, Mike, are you still thinking of Florida?” Bev asked.

Mike laughed, shaking his head. “Honestly, I’d forgotten all about that. I kinda lost sight of anything past defeating It for a while there.” He paused, a soft smile on his face. “I think it’s about time I left Derry.” 

“You know if you move to Florida you’re like, legally required to take us all to Disney, right?” Richie said, a string of laughs following his question. “I’m being serious! The amusement parks are literally the only good things in Florida.” 

Mike laughed. “I think we can work something out.”

“I think we’re gonna travel for a bit. Me and Bev, I mean. I’ve got a boat, and-”

“Wait, what the fuck do you mean you have a  _ boat? _ ” Richie all but shouted. 

“It’s not like a big boat or anything! It’s just-”

“It’s a yacht. He showed me pictures.” Bev interjected, and Ben sputtered out the beginnings of a bunch of words, not quite able to get any fully out. “Hey, it’s super fucking cool. You’re allowed to brag a bit.” 

“Ben, Benny, haystack, if you don’t let me on this boat, I might actually die.” Richie said, making what could easily be described as way too intense eye contact with Ben. 

“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” Ben said, smirking just a little. “I don’t think you could actually die from that.”

Richie clutched his chest, letting out a wheeze. “I think..I see a light. Grandma? Is that you? You say I can only live if I go on Ben’s yacht?” 

By now, Ben had been reduced to nothing but laughter, pulling himself together long enough to say, “I wasn’t gonna keep you off the boat, Richie.”

“Oh thank God!” Richie cried. “I live another day!”

“What about you, Rich?” Bill asked, pointing his fork lazily at the other man. “What’s your plan?” 

Richie paused for a moment. “Well,” He began, choosing his words very carefully. He had a plan for tonight, albeit a hastily crafted and not all the way thought out, and now was the moment to act on it. “I think I’m gonna start writing my own material, for one. Usually, writing comedy is all  _ pull from your childhood,  _ but it’s kinda hard to do that when, you know, you can’t remember most of it.”

The others nodded in somber agreement. “Well, now that you’re remembering, what’s the new hot Richie joke gonna be?” Ben asked. 

_ This is the moment,  _ Richie thought. He took a steadying breath, knowing he was probably overthinking his words. They would accept him, he knew that deep down, but to say he wasn’t nervous would be one of the biggest lies ever told about Richie. “Well, there’s probably gonna be even more dick jokes than usual.”

“Great, just what everyone needs more of.” Bill said amusedly, rolling his eyes. In fact, the only one not smiling was Bev, who was looking at him, completely shocked. Of course she’d catch on, and she gave a subtle thumbs up at Richie. 

“It’s gonna be different, though. You know, different types of dick jokes. More like, personal experience.” 

The other’s faces scrunched in confusion, except for Bev, who was positively beaming at him. “Care to elaborate on that?” She asked, and her look of excitement and pride was really all it took to give him that final push. 

“Well, uh, you know. Like-” Richie cut himself off. He absolutely  _ wasn’t  _ going to come out to the Loser with a joke about the men he’d slept with over the years. That could come later. “I’m, uh, well, I wanted to tell you guys. I didn’t wanna make it a big thing, but.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m gay.” 

He didn’t open his eyes, especially not after the silence that followed his statement. That sense of doubt was coming back, full force. What if he was wrong? Would he be kicked out of the Losers club for this? He really,  _ really,  _ hoped not. He couldn’t lose that. He kept his eyes squeezed closed until he felt a hand grip his shoulder, finally opening them to see Bill smiling at him. Not just Bill, but everyone was. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m- we’re all glad you told us.” Bill said, gripping his shoulder a little tighter. “Besides, well, I can’t speak for everyone, but I kinda knew.”

“Oh, cool, glad you filled me in on that.” Richie said with a laugh. 

Bill rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he spoke. “Well, I didn’t wanna say anything, just in case, but-”

“We all kinda knew.” Ben said with a nod. “I’m glad you told us, like, officially though.”

Mike nodded, giving Richie a smile from across the table. “We love you, man. Always will.”

Richie took it all in, feeling a weight being taken off his shoulders. Coming out to his manager? His audience? That would take a lot more psyching up, but somehow, this was even more important. The Loser knew, and they still loved him. Yeah, he was definitely going to be crying later. “So, yeah. Different type of dick jokes.”

Across the table, Mike snorted, and the serious tone was immediately lifted as the others laughed with him. It was all Richie could think about, though.  _ We still love you.  _ He hadn’t even realized how much he needed to hear those words, but it spread a warm feeling throughout his body, one he’d never felt before. He just felt so  _ loved.  _ He was so lost in thought, he almost didn’t hear Ben’s question.

“So, what about Eddie?”

“What about Eddie?” 

“Does he know?” Ben asked, and there was so much behind that question. Now that the proverbial cat was out of the bag, Richie knew the others would put the pieces together. It wasn’t really all that hard to miss. Ben knew exactly what he was asking,  _ does he know you love him?  _

Richie shook his head. “I haven’t really had the chance to have that particular conversation yet, what with the whole crazy wife and him being unconscious for most of the time we’ve been here.”

“Are you going to tell him?” This time it was Mike who asked, and the question made Richie’s heart leap to his throat. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna tell him.” He didn’t have to wonder if the other knew what he meant when he said that.  _ I’ll tell him I’m gay  _ and  _ I’m going to tell him I love him, for better or for worse.  _ No words were needed, the other’s looks of hopeful pride speaking for themselves. “Anyway, less serious topic. Ben, tell me more about your boat.” 

No one objected to the change in subject, and Ben stumbled his way through the story of how he’d gotten the yacht in the first place. Conversation went back to it’s natural flow, and maybe it was just Richie projecting onto the others, but the whole group seemed a little happier. 

Things carried on like normal until a group of waiters came out, a cake in hand, singing their own awful version of a birthday song. The Losers all smiled at the family getting the cake, the birthday girl’s face lighting up in pure joy as the dessert was placed in front of her. While everyone’s attention was on the group, Bill reached out and gave Richie’s arm a gentle squeeze and a smile. 

Once the song had died down, and the birthday girl had blown out her candle, Bill took his hand off of Richie’s arm and everyone turned back to their meals.

“Hey, you guys think it's too late to convince them it’s my birthday, too?” Richie asked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this and the following chapter were going to be one chapter, but I decided to keep them split up to make Richie's coming out kind of a bigger thing.


	8. Happy Birthday, Richie

March 7, 1992

Richie was in the clubhouse. It had started to get overgrown in the past few years, and its structural integrity was beginning to become a bit questionable. After Ben had moved away from Derry, they no longer had a construction man on hand. He had to crouch when he moved around in it, head brushing the dirt ceiling if he didn’t, and the hammock now creaked under his weight, but it was still Richie’s favorite place in Derry. It was the one place that had nothing but good memories in this godforsaken town.

Right now though, Richie was curled up in the hammock, glasses thrown to the side as he sobbed into the fabric. He was 16 today, and he was spending the afternoon alone in a hole in the ground. Happy birthday to him. 

Eventually, he heard the trap door open, and Stan climbed down the ladder into the clubhouse. He didn’t even bother trying to cover his cries, instead just sitting up, opening space for Stan to sit next to him on the hammock. He joined the other boy, shoulders pressed together, legs dangling over the edge. They sat together in silence for a long while, Stan pulling Richie into a hug, letting the other boy cry against him. 

“They forgot, didn’t they?” Asking was only a formality, they both knew the answer. 

It wasn’t that Richie’s parents didn’t care, per say, although one could easily see how it could be taken that way. Both were already gone to work by the time Richie had woken up, leaving only their usual note of ‘at work, see you at 8’ on the counter. It was a pattern that was all too familiar; they wouldn’t realize what day it was until much later, being so exhausted that they’d just register it was just another work day. When they came home, they’d bring a cake with them, and a few gifts they’d tucked away in their closet for the occasion. If he stayed up late enough, he would hear them talking in hushed voices downstairs, promising they’d make sure to take off work next year, guilt coming off them in waves. 

Normally, Richie didn’t mind too much. Sure, it still stung a little, but it just meant more free time to spend with his friends, which was the way he’d rather be spending his birthday, anyway. But this year, his birthday was on a Saturday, a day his parents usually had off, and it was his 16th. Sweet 16, first big birthday of his teen years. One of the most important of his young years

“I just thought it’d be different this year.” Richie cried, voice muffled against Stan’s shirt. If it were any other day, Stan would be yelling at him for getting one of his button ups dirty, but this was a special occasion, and Richie had a free pass. 

“I know, Rich. I thought so, too.” He was rubbing Richie’s arm with his hand, the motion calming Richie slightly. “You don’t have to come to Bill’s tonight, if you don’t want to.”

It was a tradition; every year, the Loser would get together for Richie’s birthday. They never made a big deal out of it, usually bringing small gifts and plenty of snacks, settling in for a few movies or a round of video games. It never happened at Richie’s house, with Bill usually being the one to host. On school nights, Richie was expected to be home by 9:30, but since it was the weekend, the plan was to have a sleepover in Bill’s living room. Most of their parents had insisted they were all getting too old for sleepovers, but the Losers didn’t listen. It was something normal, something that let them pretend they were just normal kids, pretending the scars on their hands were from roughhousing rather than a blood pact. 

Richie shook his head, wiping his nose against the back of his hand. “I wanna go. It’s pretty much the only thing I’m looking forward to today.” 

Stan nodded, pulling his arm away. “You didn’t hear this from me, but Bill is making you a cake this year.” 

“Really? I didn’t know he could cook.” Richie chuckled to himself. The last time Bill had tried to cook, they were eleven and it was at three in the morning, and he and Richie had been attempting to make mac n cheese. They’d burned the noodles, grated entirely too much cheese, and nearly caused a fire in the kitchen. Disposing of the evidence proved to be difficult, especially after the smoke alarm had gone off. After that, the two had been banned from the kitchen indefinitely. 

A light pink dusted Stan’s cheeks as he shrugged. “I’ve been helping him. He’s honestly gotten pretty good at it.” 

“Is cooking the only thing you’ve been  _ helping  _ him with?” Richie winked, and Stan turned a nearly comical shade of red.

“Remind me again why I’m friends with you?” 

  
“Because you love me, duh.” Richie flicked him on the nose, Stan batting his hand away, which only encouraged Richie to do it again. 

“Can you not?” 

“Actually, no. I have to do this.” He flicked Stan’s nose once more. “It’s my burden to bear. I don’t like it any more than you, Stan the Man.” 

Richie moved for Stan’s nose once again, but Stan caught his wrist in his hand, glaring. “Why are you like this?”

Richie just laughed, pulling his arm back from Stan’s grip. “Come on, you love it.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Stan rolled his eyes, leaning back into the hammock. “Really, though, are you okay?”

Richie joined him in laying back, shrugging. “As good as I can be. Better, now that I’m getting to bother you.”

“Great. Glad to know I could help.” Stan deadpanned, shooting Richie an expressionless glance from the corner of his eye. It didn’t last long, laughter bubbing up and escaping Stan. His laugh was contagious, and soon Richie was joining him. The two sat in the hammock, laughing until their sides hurt, pausing long enough to share a quick glance before bursting into hysterics again. 

Finally their laughter died down, but neither moved to get up. There was still a lingering sadness in Richie, and he knew it wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. So he reached for Stan’s hand, the other boy linking their fingers together. It was a habit they’d developed, holding hands when they were alone. 

Richie would call Eddie or Bill his best friend to most people, but really, the title belonged to Stan. They were both different, in a way no one else they knew was, and that brought them a type of closeness that neither boy could share with the other Loser. They pined together over their respective crushes, on more than one occasion, they’d both cried from frustration at just how unfair it was, being unable to even  _ think  _ of acting on them. They told each other things they’d never be able to admit to anyone else; the way Richie had been secretly glad at the news that Hockstetter had gone missing, his fears of being forgotten. Stan would tell him of his lingering feelings of being a disappointment and his increasingly self destructive coping mechanisms. One night, while Stan was telling Richie things were getting bad again, Richie had reached for his hand. It was never spoken about, but had become almost second nature after that. 

Richie sighed, rubbing the last few tears from his eyes, squeezing Stan’s hand a little tighter. “I’m gonna have a killer fuckin’ headache after this.” 

“Hold on.” Stan reached into his pocket, pulling out a baggie with two tylenol in it, passing it to Richie.

“Stan! When did you start dealing?” Richie laughed as he took the bag. 

“Oh my God, it’s literally just headache medicine. I’ve known you long enough to know you don’t drink enough water to  _ not  _ have a headache after you cry.” Stan rolled his eyes, not looking at Richie. “I can see that stupid expression from here.”

True to his word, Richie had on his best shit eating grin, which only grew at Stan’s words. “I’m drinking a perfectly normal amount of water, thank you very much.” 

“You’re supposed to have four cups a day, at least.”

“That’s so much! Who has the bladder space for that?” 

“I don’t know, normal fucking people?” Stan rolled his eyes, looking over at Richie. “If you don’t drink water at Bill’s, I’m going to fight you.”

“I’d like to see you try, Urine.” Richie grinned. He was the one who’d come up with Stan Urine, and seeing Stan’s look of absolute disgust whenever he used the name was an absolute joy to Richie. 

“Allright, that’s it. I’m leaving.” Stan pulled his hand away from Richie’s, hopping out of the hammock. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Always am, Stan the Man.” Richie grinned, and Stan just shook his head.

“See you at the party?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  
  


True to his word, Richie was at Bill’s doorstep a little after 5, just late enough to call it fashionable. He had a bag of clothes, comics, and VHS’ slung over his shoulder, his pillow under his arm. He let himself into the house (Bill kept a spare key hidden under a potted plant near the doorway, and as soon as Richie had found out about it, he never knocked at the door again.)

“Took you luh-long enough to get here!” Bill shouted from his spot on the couch, the others already settled into their regular places. Stan, Bill, and Mike shared the couch, Eddie curled up in the armchair next to it. There was another chair in the room, but it was never used. Richie would all but throw himself onto Eddie’s lap, insisting he was in the comfier chair (“You aren’t even using the chair! You’re literally sitting on me!”). 

“Sorry, Eddie’s mom didn’t want me to leave. We kinda lost track of time, you know.” True to form, he dropped his bag on the ground before throwing himself over Eddie, feet dangling over one edge of the seat, head over the other. 

“You’re so fucking gross!” Eddie tried to shove Richie off the chair, startling a yelp out of the other boy as he wrapped his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. 

“If I fall, you’re falling with me, fucker!” 

“Actually, dipshit, if you fall, I stay up here, because I’m sitting like a normal fucking person sits in chairs!”

“Oh really?” Richie looped his arms around Eddie’s neck, leaning backwards until he was falling. He hit the ground with a loud  _ Thump _ , looking up to find Eddie’s smug grin from his spot in the seat. 

The other Loser burst into laughter as Richie stood. “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up!” He climbed back into his spot on Eddie’s lap, who was laughing too hard to protest. “So, what’s on the agenda, chaps?” He asked, slipping easily into his British accent. 

“That’s up to you, Richie.” Bill said with a shrug. 

Richie grinned, grabbing his backpack from the ground. From it, he produced a well-loved VHS of  _ The Lost Boys _ .

“Oh my god, Richie, you make us watch this every year!” Eddie cried from below him, crossing his arms with a huff. 

“Well, yeah, because it has endless rewatchability! It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the classics.” 

“It’s not a classic, dumbass. It has to be an old movie to be a classic.” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Says who? When did that become a rule?” He turned to the other boys, who were just watching this unfold. “Back me up here!”

Mike shrugged. “I think it’s a pretty good movie.”

“Mikey boy, a man of class and taste!” Richie grinned. “Alright, lads, let us pop the corn and get this moving picture rolling!” Honestly, Richie wasn’t quite sure which voice he wanted to pull, coming out somewhere between drunk Irishman and old school gangster. 

“Hey, Richie? Literally never do that voice again.” Stan grimaced at him from across the room. 

“What voice? This has always been me voice!” He replied, making the voice sound somehow even worse than the last time.

“I’m  _ leaving. _ ” Stan stood from the couch. “I’ll burn the popcorn for you.” He looked right at Richie for that, and Richie let out a wounded gasp.

“Stanley, you would never!”

“Watch me.” With that, Stan disappeared into the kitchen. 

“I’m gonna go make shu-sure Stan doesn’t actually buh-burn my house down.” Bill stood, heading into the kitchen as well. Richie couldn’t help but smile after him. He felt like  _ something  _ had shifted in their dynamic, but he also knew Stan would tell him if it had. Maybe he hadn’t noticed? 

“What are you smiling about?” Eddie asked, poking Richie’s cheek.

Richie poked him back. “Just thinking about last night with your mom. Lots of good memories there.” 

Eddie poked him again, this time in his sides, right where he had found out Richie was ticklish. “Richie, you’re disgusting.” 

“That’s not what your mom was saying.” Richie winked. Suddenly, Eddie was attacking his sides, Richie trying to squirm out of his grip, but the other boy held strong. “Stop! Holy shit, I’m gonna fucking piss if you don’t stop!”

Eddie quickly retreated his hands. “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

“Well, now I’m not going to!” Richie flicked Eddie’s nose, grinning at the way Eddie’s nose scrunched from the action. “Cute, cute, cute!” He cried, squishing Eddie’s face between his hands. 

Eddie pushed his hands away, doing his best to glare at Richie, his cheeks tinted pink. “I hate you.”

“You love me!” Richie flopped across Eddie’s lap, throwing his legs back over the side of the chair. 

“In your dreams, dipshit.” Eddie kept glaring. Richie winked. “Holy shit, that’s not what I meant!”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Richie laughed. “You came up with that one all on your own, Spaghetti head.” Before Eddie could tell him not to call him that, Stan and Bill returned to the living room, two large bowls of popcorn in their hands. “Finally!” Richie cried, leaving his spot long enough to pop the VHS into the VCR. Stan turned off the lights in the living room, and the boys all returned to their respective spots around the room. 

One movie turned into two,  _ Nightmare on Elm Street _ being the follow up. They all heckled the movie; it was hard to find a horror movie that phased them after everything that had happened. All except Eddie, who still gripped Richie’s arm in a vice anytime something scary was happening on screen, not that Richie was complaining. After the movie ended, Eddie’s hand was still on his arm, and Richie wasn’t sure if he’d even realized, but he wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon. 

“So, what’s next?”

“Actually, I huh-have something I wuh-want to show you.” Bill said, before standing. “Stay there.”

Bill disappeared into the kitchen, and Stan shot Richie a look that said  _ at least pretend to be surprised.  _ Richie shot one back that said  _ I’m not that dumb, dumbass.  _ Stan’s raised eyebrow was a clear sign that he was disagreeing, but before their non-verbal conversation could continue, Bill was coming back into the room, a small cake with a single candle on top in his hands. 

“Happy birthday, Richie.” He said, smiling as he put the cake down onto the coffee table. 

Richie took a moment to just grin, at first in return to Bill’s own smile, and then just at the cake in front of him. They’d always done something store bought, but this? Bill had put actual effort into this, and Richie was reminded of just how lucky he was to have the Losers. “If any of you start singing, we’re gonna have an issue.”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU-” Mike began, singing as loudly and off-key as he could, and was met promptly with a pillow thrown at his face.

“What did I literally  _ just  _ say!” Richie was laughing, and Mike was, too. Meanwhile, Eddie looked like he was going to have an aneurysm.

“What the fuck, Richie? You could’ve just started a fire!” Eddie cried, and Richie just rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t.” Eddie looked ready to explode. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. Here, I’ll just take fire out of the whole situation.” Pausing for just a moment - he always thought the making a wish tradition was a little silly, but he always did it, just in case - before blowing out the candle. “See, no more fire.” 

“Did you m-make a wish?” Bill asked. 

“Well, duh. I think that’s like a law.” Richie grinned. It was a bit of a stupid wish really, but it was worth a try.  _ I wish Eddie likes me, too.  _

The cake was cut, each loser taking respective slices (Eddie’s being the biggest, the kid had a major sweet tooth after not being allowed to have anything with sugar for the better part of his younger years), and honestly? It was delicious. 

“This is good fuckin’ cake.” Richie said between mouthfuls. 

“Really?” Bill asked, met with enthusiastic approval from the others. “I actually muh-made it. St-Stan helped but it’s ho-ho-homemade.”

“I was just there to keep you from burning the place down. You did all the work.” Stan said, an uncharacteristically soft expression on his face. It was only there for a second, and Richie was the only one who caught it. (At least, he thought so, but Bill had noticed as well, if the blush creeping up his neck was any indication.) 

“Well, either way, it tastes amazing.” Richie grinned. “Thank you guys, really.” 

After the cake was almost completely eaten, the lights were turned back on in the living room as a bag of presents was brought down from Bill’s room. Richie always insisted he didn’t need anything for his birthday, but the others never listened, always getting him at least something small. This year, Richie could tell they’d gone a little more all in.

From Bill was a trilogy of novels, and he explained that they were really easy to follow, and had just enough mystery to keep the reader invested. (A few years ago, Richie had confided in Bill over a study session that he had a really hard time reading anything other than comics, his attention just slipping away too quickly. Bill had then made it a mission to find novels and other stories that Richie could focus on, and he’d become incredible at it.) 

Stan had gotten him an absolutely attoricious hawaiian shirt; hot pink with neon yellow flowers on it, a real eye sore. Richie, of course, immediately put it on. It had become a tradition, Stan and Richie’s challenge to find the ugliest clothes for each other. Stan would always get him *some sort of hawaiian shirt or other type of short sleeve button up, and Richie would get him the ugliest pajamas he could. He’d tried for everyday clothes before, but Stan never wore them, which was excessively boring. With pajamas though, Stan wore them to nearly every sleepover they’d had. 

Mike’s gift was big and soft within the packaging, and when it was opened, Richie was genuinely made speechless. Mike had gifted him a hand-made wool blanket. He rushed through an explanation that some of the people they sold their sheep wool to made things like blankets out of them, and they’d agreed to make one for Richie for super cheap. Richie wrapped himself up in it, grinning wildly as the others half-heartedly complained that they wouldn’t be able to one up that gift, ever. 

Eddie’s gift was modest, a stack of comics tied together with twine. Richie positively beamed at him for it, but Eddie only partially returned it, squirming in his seat. Definitely not the reaction he was expecting, especially given they were all pretty nice comics. He shrugged it off, thanking everyone for their presents before insisting they go back to watching movies. Everyone agreed, popping in their copy of  _ Predator _ and turning off the lights once more. 

Richie squeezed himself into the space between Eddie and the arm of the chair, wrapping them both in the blanket from Mike. He barely focused on the movie, more concerned with watching the other boy out of the corner of his eye. Eddie was fidgeting more than normal, and kept shooting nervous glances at Richie.

After about half an hour of this, Richie leaned closer to Eddie, whispering. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, why do you say that?” Eddie said, a little too quickly, even for his hyperactive speech patterns.

“You literally look like you’re about to explode. What’s up?” Richie asked, voice barely above a murmur. 

Eddie just shook his head. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Richie raised an eyebrow at him, and Eddie frowned. “Really, I’m fine.”

“If you say so, Eds.” 

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Eddie said, turning his attention back to the movie. He was still tense, but he’d shut down that conversation real quick, so Richie was only able to stew in his thoughts, wondering what had gotten him so worked up. 

Rather abruptly, Richie stood. “I’m gonna step outside for a sec.” He reached into his backpack for his smokes, pocketing them before walking onto the back porch. He took out a cigarette, placing it between his teeth, but not lighting it. Eddie had convinced him to try and quit, and he never did it around the others anymore. But Eddie being on edge had put him on edge as well, and it helped, in a fucked up sort of way.

He’d just put the lighter to the end of it when the door to the porch opened, and Eddie stepped outside. “You’re supposed to be quitting, dumbass.” 

Richie rolled his eyes, taking a quick drag before dropping the mostly unsmoked cigarette to the ground, putting it out with his shoe. “Hey, it’s my birthday. I think I get a pass.”

“Lung cancer doesn’t care about birthdays.” Eddie said, expression serious, and Richie couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m being serious! It doens’t matter if it’s a special occasion or whatever, it’s aways gonna be bad for you, and I’m not gonna let you get fucking cancer before you’re twenty.” 

“So you’ll let me get it  _ after  _ I hit twenty?” Richie watched as Eddie’s face scrunched in frustration, shooting the other boy his best smug grin.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He huffed before joining Richie in leaning against the wall of the house. “Anyway, that’s not why I’m out here.”

“You’re not just out here to lecture me? That’s a first.” Richie laughed, and Eddie joined in. He was right, that was usually how it went. 

Eddie paused, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking down. “I, uh, actually, wanted to give you something.” That piqued Richie’s interest, turning to lean his shoulder against the wall, fully facing Eddie. ( Eddie’s breath caught in his throat at the simple action, and he _really_ hoped Richie hadn’t noticed.) “I got you something else for your birthday, and I was talking to Stan, and he told me I shouldn’t give it to you in front of the others, and I mean it makes sense? I think?” 

“Is this like a sex thing?” Richie asked jokingly, but internally, he was having a bit of a gay meltdown. This was way outside the realm of normal, and knowing Stan had a hand in it only put him more into meltdown mode. What if it  _ was  _ a sex thing? He wouldn’t be upset for sure, but here? On the porch? 

“No, it’s not a fucking sex thing!” Eddie cried, face burning. “It’s just-” He cut himself off, holding out a grocery back with a couple wrapped objects in it. “Here.”

Richie took it, Eddie refusing to meet his gaze. Richie slid down to sit, Eddie following in suit. Once on the ground, Richie pulled out the bigger of the presents, unwrapping it with little grace or patience, much to Eddie’s annoyance.

“Holy shit.” In his hands, Richie was holding a portable CD player. “This isn’t a joke, is it? This is actually for me?” 

Eddie nodded, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “You’d been talking about wanting one for a while, and there was a sale, and I thought, hey, why not?” 

“Where’d you get the money for this?” Richie knew these weren’t cheap, and Eddie wasn’t working. “Wait, did you steal this?

“What the- No, I didn’t steal it!” He blushed, mumbling. “My mom paid for it.” 

“So this is technically from Mrs. K?” He asked, barely stifling a grin as Eddie nodded. “Well, I’ll have to give her an extra big thank you later.”

“Okay, nevermind, it’s mine again.” Eddie reached for the CD player, but Richie held it away from him.

“No way, Jose! It’s a gift, no take-backsies.” 

Eddie laughed. “Did you really just say take-backsies?” 

“What else am I gonna call it?” Richie said, moving to open the other gifts, unable to ignore the fluttering in his chest. Not only had Eddie remembered, but he’d actually  _ gotten  _ it for him, his money or not. “How’d you convince your mom to buy it?”

“I told her it was for me. She made me promise to not use the headphones, since they aren't sanitary, but she said as long as I followed that, I could get it.” He said, smiling over at Richie. “I hid the headphones in my room.”

Sure enough, the headphones were in the next present Richie opened. There was still one more, and Richie tore into it, nearly dropping the contents. There were about four CD’s in the pile; a copy of The Cure’s  _ Disintegration _ , Nirvana’s  _ Nevermind _ ,  _ Why Do Birds Sing _ from the Violent Femmes, and the soundtrack to  _ Lost boys _ . 

“Did your mom buy these, too?” Richie asked, but it wasn’t in his usual joking tone. He was staring at Eddie, eyes wide in surprise.

“No, I bought them.” Eddie fidgeted, looking away from Richie. “Like I said, there was a sale.” 

Richie spent a long moment in speechless surprise. The comics were nice, but this? This was...this was something special. “Holy shit. Eddie, I could literally kiss you right now.”

Richie didn’t miss the blush on Eddie’s cheeks after that. “I really wish you wouldn’t. Cigarette breath and-”

Richie cut him off with a wet kiss to his cheek, grabbing his face and overexaggerating the whole thing. Eddie shrieked, wiping his face aggressively as soon as Richie pulled away. “Fucking gross, Richie! You didn’t have to slobber on me!” 

“Actually, I kinda did.” Richie laughed, suddenly unsure of what to do with his, well, everything. He settled on gripping his legs, doing his best to not rock back and forth. He wasn’t even able to worry about what he’d just done, or if Eddie had found it gross for reasons outside of the excessively wet aspect of it (though he would  _ absolutely  _ worry about that later), body thrumming with manic energy. He was just so fucking  _ happy _ . He wanted to pull Eddie into a tight hug, or run around the yard, or even just roll around on the floor for a bit (something he’d been known to do on occasion when he felt especially manic), instead just grinning ear to ear at Eddie, who had pulled an alcohol wipe from out of his fanny pack and was wiping down his cheek.

He pulled the wipe away from his face, looking nervous again. “For real, do you like it?”

“Do I like- Is that even a question?” Richie stared with genuine shock at the other boy. How could he even doubt Richie would like this? “Eddie, I love it.” 

Eddie’s face turned an adorable shade of pink as he averted his gaze, staring down at the floor between his shoes. “I’m glad.” He looked back up, bumping Richie’s shoulder with his own. 

If he’d been happy before, he was practically vibrating with the amount of pure  _ joy  _ he was feeling at that moment. Eddie was looking at him with a fond expression, a stack of CD’s was in his hand, his friends were back inside, watching movies, all there for  _ him.  _ His parents may not have noticed it was his birthday, but in that moment, Richie couldn’t find it in him to care. He had all the family he needed right here. 

“Alright, well.” Eddie cleared his throat, standing awkwardly. “I’m gonna head back inside.”

Richie gave a thumbs up in his direction. “I’ll be in in a bit.”

“If you smoke, I swear-”

“Not for that. I just need a minute, you know?” To prove his point, Richie held out his pack to Eddie. “Here, put these back in my backpack?” He was pretty sure Eddie would just toss them, but he almost didn’t care. 

Eddie took them, holding them out like a bag of dog shit. “I’ll see you inside.”

Richie nodded, waiting for the door to close before flopping onto the floor fully, flailing his limbs wildly, grinning like a madman. Anyone who saw him would probably think he’d lost it, but half the town thought that already, and he really couldn’t bring himself to care. He sat up, looking down at the CD’s, unable to stop smiling. Eddie had really done this, just for him. That stirred up a new type of butterflies, warmth blooming through him. He wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing as tight as he could. He was just so  _ happy.  _

Finally, he’d calmed down enough to pick up the CD player, checking out all it’s features. There was the volume button, of course; a stop and start, skip, and a button to open it. He pressed it, and the lid popped open. To his surprise, there was already a disk in it, a handwritten name in sharpie on it. 

_ Trashmouth Tracks _

_ - _

_ Happy birthday, Richie _

_ Eds _

Richie closed the lid, holding the little machine to his chest, feeling the pricke of tears in his eyes. He felt warm, and he felt giddy, and, deep down, he felt just a spark of hope. He let out a sigh, grinning even as he rubbed his eyes. Finally, he stood, gathering the gifts in his arms, sneaking back into the living room and putting them into his backpack as quickly as he could. Clearly this was something Eddie didn’t want the others to know about (and that thought did some funny things to his heart rate), so he didn’t want to leave it out for long. Stan was watching him though, a knowing smile on his face. 

_ Did you open it?  _ He mouthed, grinning widely at Richie’s nod. He gave a quick thumbs up before turning back to the movie. Eddie was sitting in the armchair, curled up against one arm, Richie’s blanket tucked around his shoulders. 

“Hey dipfuck, quit hogging my blanket.” He said, climbing into the chair next to Eddie. He grabbed a corner from Eddie, pulling it tight around the both of them. He was still practically bouncing off the walls, which may have been what inspired him to grab Eddie’s hand, hidden by the cocoon of blanket they’d formed around themselves. Eddie tensed for just a moment before relaxing, returning Richie’s grip in earnest. The two turned their attention to the movie again. At some point, Eddie’s head had ended up on Richie’s shoulder. Eventually, they’d shifted to where Richie was laying with his legs over one side of the chair, head over the other, with Eddie curled up practically on top of him, head resting on his chest, half asleep. The others were also on their way to sleeping, but Richie was wide awake, focusing on Eddie’s soft breathing, small movements as he slipped into sleep. 

Looking up, he saw Stan looking at him, a knowing expression on his face. Eddie shifted, nuzzling into Richie’s chest, and Stan’s smile grew. Richie smiled back, wrapping his arms around Eddie.

Maybe birthday wishes weren’t bullshit after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mixtape Eddie gives Richie is https://open.spotify.com/playlist/15F5GYfRTACVI2isscxSU8?si=7Q6ayYTKTgWq7YlNqImbcg


	9. Prom Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW For underage drinking in this chapter

February 1993

Prom season had come to Derry’s high school. All around the school, flyers were hung up, nominating various students for prom royalty, reminding everyone of the theme (a night under the stars, the same theme as it had been for the past three years) and the time and place. 

When the Loser were freshman, they’d talk about their plans for senior prom. They’d come to the conclusion that, although Richie would find a way to get himself kicked out early, the others would have a really nice time. 

But by the time it was becoming a looming reality, Bev, Bill and Ben had moved away (Bill moving a few months after Richie’s 16th birthday party, though the move had been planned since  _ that  _ summer), and, for the first time in years, the Loser club was back down to four. So, Richie had assumed that all their old prom plans had been thrown out the window.

They were in Richie’s living room, taking turns playing with his Super Nintendo. Richie’s parents had gotten it for him last Christmas and, after he’d told the others, his house suddenly became the place to hang out on weekends. Stan and Eddie were engaged in a heated round of Mario Kart, Richie and Mike sat on the couch behind them, a bowl of chips between them.

“So, have you gotten your tux yet?” Mike asked Richie, eyes still on the pair in front of them.

“What? What do I need a tux for?” Richie’s hand that was reaching for the chips stilled, looking at Mike with confusion. 

“We’re taking Mike to prom.” Stan replied, followed immediately by a string of colorful curses launched at Eddie. 

“Oh, okay, cool. Glad to know I was involved in that decision.” Richie said, grabbing a handful of chips. 

He could practically hear the eyeroll Stan was shooting him as Mike shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “I wasn’t really told either.” Mike said, rubbing his neck. “I just told Stan I’d never been to a dance, and he gave me a ticket the next day.” 

Richie stared dumbfounded for a moment. “Have you really never been to a dance? Ever?” Mike nodded. “Mikey-boy, prepare to be amazed by my dancing skills! Stan, where’s my ticket?”

Stan snorted. “Richie, we all know you can’t dance. And I didn’t get you one.” He wasn’t looking at Richie, but he could practically see the pleased smile on his face. 

“What the fuck, Stan!” Richie cried, though there really wasn’t any anger behind it. “How come I don’t get one?”

“Because you’re taking Eddie.” Stan said matter of factly as Richie nearly choked on his chips. 

“I am? Since when? Why am I not being told about these things!” He may have been shouting, and was very,  _ very  _ glad Eddie was still looking at the TV, because he knew his face was red as a beet.

This time, it was Eddie who spoke up. “It’s not like that, dumbass.” It was directed at Stan, his voice strained, the way it always got when he was flustered. “My mom told me I couldn’t go unless I was going with someone else, and Stan didn’t have the money for another ticket, even though I told him I could buy my own.” 

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Wait, where am I supposed to be getting the money from?” 

“You had a job over the summer, remember?” Stan said, leaning closer to the screen. Any protests Richie had were quickly silenced by a shout from the two boys in front of the TV, Eddie throwing down his controller in frustration as Stan whooped. No further conversation on the topic was had, and Richie resided himself to his fate.

Which is how he found himself standing on the Kaspbrack’s doorstep, two prom tickets shoved into the pocket of his rented tux (a shade of baby blue with a black bowtie; his parents had vetoed the polk-a-dot bowtie he’d originally gone for), anxiety building with each second that passed after ringing the doorbell. He was about to ring it again when the door opened, Eddie’s mother filling the doorway. 

“I thought Eddie said he was going with  _ all  _ of you.” She said through her glare, looking Richie up and down. By now, his palms were sweating, hands deep in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. 

“He- we are. Going as a group, I mean. We’re gonna meet up at school.” He said, doing his best to hold his ground. Under normal circumstances, he didn’t get nervous under Sonia’s scrutiny, already so used to being judged by her. But he was already nervous, and this was just the icing on the cake. 

Before she could say anything else, Eddie popped up behind her, sliding around her and onto the porch. He gave his mother a quick hug goodbye in an attempt to quiet her complaints before closing the door, stepping fully onto the porch with his backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Sorry.” He said, smiling nervously at Richie. “She’s been extra weird today.” 

Richie forgot for a moment that he had to reply. Eddie was- he looked  _ good.  _ His suit was a light pink and well fitted, and his hair was styled away from his face, practically begging to be mussed up. Richie’s nerves were worse than ever, drinking in the boy in front of him. Tonight was not going to be easy. 

He didn’t even notice he hadn’t spoken until he saw Eddie’s face start to shift into something approaching concern. “Hey, don’t worry about it. She’s just mad that I'm spending the night with you instead of her.” 

Eddie snorted, and Richie decided in his moment that he was  _ fucked. _ “Come on, trashmouth.” 

___________________________________

An hour later, Prom was well underway, and honestly? It sucked.

“This sucks.” Richie said, throwing back a cup of punch. 

Eddie nodded next to him, biting into a baby carrot. ( _ “Of all the food they put out, you go for the vegetables?” “Shut up, Richie!”).  _ When the Loser had first arrived, they’d quickly found a place at one of the tables at the back of the gym, each settling in with a cup of shitty punch and a plate of the cheap snacks the PTA had put together for the event. Mike and Stan were up and dancing and generally making fools of themselves, but they looked happy doing it. 

At any other school dance, Richie would be right there with them, but tonight he didn’t seem to want to make an effort. Eddie watched him out of the corner of his eye, concern written all over his face. Richie was never this quiet, he was always trying to make himself the center of attention in situations like this. 

Honestly, Richie had been off all night. Eddie noticed him acting a bit weird when he’d come to the door, but had simply written it off as his own nerves. (He never directly told Stan about his feelings for Richie, but he knew the other boy had guessed it somehow, especially after the smug grin he’d given after Eddie had confronted him about the ticket debacle.)  _ It’s not a date,  _ he’d told himself, but his heart still raced at the sight of Richie on his doorstep. For a moment, he let himself live in a reality where it really was a date, one where Richie would take his hand, give him a kiss on the cheek, and walk him to prom, arm in arm.

But then Richie had opened his mouth, and that reality was shattered. 

Now, though, it was unmistakable that something was up with Richie. Part of him wanted to ask what was wrong, but he knew Richie wouldn’t tell him. Not directly, at least. It was a rare occurance to get one Richie Tozier to be honest about his feelings, and Eddie had only been able to do it a handful of times in all his years of being friends with him. 

So instead, he went for the tried and true method of distraction. “It probably sucks more because we’re just sitting here.” Eddie got up and walked to stand in front of Richie. “Come on, let’s go dance.” 

Richie looked like a deer caught in headlights, staring wide eyed at the hand Eddie extended towards him. For a split second, Eddie panicked, but then Richie was taking his hand. “Lead the way, ol’ sport.”

The two stayed on the edge of the dancefloor, making their way over to Stan and Mike. 

“Finally! I thought you two were gonna sit there all night!” Mike shouted over the music, grinning wildly. 

Stan threw his head back and laughed, and it wasn’t long before the others joined in. Richie bumped Stan’s hip with his own, and with that, the four were moving. Dancing would be a generous term for what they were doing; it was more like moving wildly and hoping it lined up with the song that was playing. Any anxieties from earlier were gone from Richie’s face, and Eddie grinned despite himself. The song shifted, the opening notes of  _ I Melt With You  _ coming through the speakers.

“I love this song!” Richie shouted, grabbing Eddie’s hands. “Dance with me, Eds!”

“Don’t call me that!” He shouted back, glad the dim lights were hiding the blush creeping onto his cheeks. 

Richie ignored his shout, grinning ear to ear as he spun them around the dancefloor, singing along to the song. Eddie was transfixed; he’d heard Richie singing a few times, when he thought no one was around to hear it. Even though he was singing loudly and was a little out of breath, it made Eddie’s heart flutter all the same. 

Richie let go of one of his hands, spinning Eddie under his arm. The smaller boy laughed as he was spun, still giggling when Richie reclaimed his other hand. Maybe he imagined it, but it felt like Richie had pulled him closer than before. Richie was grinning down at him as he led them in circles, still singing, and Eddie felt his knees go weak. He wished he could freeze time in this moment; the cheap colorful lights borrowed from the theater department reflecting off Richie's glasses, catching his face at all the right angles, their hands clasped tight together and Richie practically singing  _ for  _ him. 

_ I'll stop the world and melt with you _

The song came to a close, but neither boy let go, even as it changed into a slow ballad. Around them, couples began to pair off. Eddie saw out of the corner of his eye as Mike and Stan left the dance floor, Stan shooting them a look he was sure he was glad he wasn’t able to fully make out. If Richie noticed, he didn’t react, staring at Eddie, holding his hands tight. 

“Hey,” Eddie said, acutely aware of how shakey his voice sounded. “Wanna keep dancing?” 

For a moment, Richie was speechless (later, Eddie would feel very proud of himself for making the trashmouth himself unable to talk), before he nodded. “Yeah, let’s- that.” Richie looked past Eddie, furrowing his brows. “Follow me.”

“What- why?” Eddie asked, letting Richie pull him along regardless. Richie pushed open the gym doors, pulling them both into the empty hallway. 

“I like the way I look without a black eye way better.” Richie said, and Eddie wanted to hit himself for it. Of course, his classmates would’ve seen, and there was no way  _ that  _ would end well for either of them. “Come on.”

Music floated down the hallway after them as they made their way further away from the dance. It echoed off the walls along with the sound of their footsteps, setting around them like a blanket when Richie pulled them to a stop. It was dark in the hallway, the space only illuminated by the lights from the dance and the streetlights outside the school. Hard edges were lost, both boys illuminated softly by the minimal light sources. 

Riche grinned at Eddie, letting go of one of his hands and spinning him under his arm. Eddie let him, laughing as he did so. The sound carried down the empty halls, sounding more beautiful than any music Richie had ever heard. When Eddie was facing him again, Richie put a hand on his waist almost without thinking, smiling down at the shorter boy. Eddie faltered just for a moment although his smile didn’t fall, just slipped into something more relaxed.

“Is this okay?” Richie asked, too quietly for it to carry. 

Eddie nodded, placing a shaking hand on Richie’s shoulder. Eddie could barely hear the music over the sound of his own heartbeat, glad the dim of the hallway was hiding the flush creeping its way up his neck. Richie slipped his fingers between Eddie’s, resting their linked hands against his chest. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat, gripping Richie’s shoulder tighter. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Richie asked again, voice wavering with uncertainty. 

“I’m positive.” Eddie squeezed Richie’s hand, smiling up at the other boy. Richie’s gaze darted away, his face darkening with a blush.

“Alright, cool. Great.” Richie said, and Eddie laughed. “What?”

“Stop talking, dumbass.” Eddie said, and that seemed like enough to get Richie to listen. 

Slowly, the two started moving to the beat of the song. It was clumsy and awkward, both boys laughing as they stepped on each other’s toes and fumbled their way around each other. As the song drew on, they settled into a rhythm. They were simply swaying to the beat now, getting closer together with each passing moment. Eddie gripped Richie’s shoulder tighter, chewing on his bottom lip nervously as he leaned forward, resting his head against the crook of the other boy’s neck. 

Richie’s breath hitched and he froze for a moment. Eddie froze too, immediately overwhelmed with panic. Then Richie was wrapping both arms around his waist, pulling him closer and his chin came to rest on the top of Eddie’s head, resuming their gentle swaying motion. 

Eddie smiled into Richie’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, breathing in the smell of Richie. He smelled like the earthy soap he used, cigarette smoke, and just a hint of sweat, mixed with the fresh scent of the flower he’d tucked into his lapel. He just smelled like  _ Richie,  _ and Eddie was drowning in it. His body was burning everywhere they were touching, his heart was threatening to pound it’s way out of his chest. Richie was humming along with the song, some sappy melody about pining and unconditional love that Eddie didn’t know too well, but Richie wasn’t missing a beat. It was too much and too little all at once. Eddie felt like he had lightning coursing through him, craving more contact, but not daring to move. 

Eventually, the song drew to a close, but neither boy let go. Richie was the first to move, taking his hand away from Eddie’s hip. Eddie shivered, feeling cold without the other boy’s touch. Then Richie was cupping the back of his head, pulling back far enough to look at Eddie. 

Eddie may as well have forgotten how to breathe in that moment. Richie was staring at him, wide eyes made wider behind his coke bottle glasses. There was uncertainty in his expression, teetering right on the edge of fear, but he had that look Richie always got when he was determined about something. Eddie couldn’t look away if he wanted to. He slid his hand up Richie’s shoulder to trace the taller boy’s jaw, making him shiver. 

“Eddie..” Eddie could feel Richie’s breath hot against his lips - when had they gotten so close? “Eddie, I-”

The gym doors slammed open behind them, and Richie jumped back as though he’d been burned, staring in wide eyed terror at the double doors. A giggling couple was making their way out of the dance, too wrapped up in each other’s arms to notice the two boys at the other end of the hallway. 

Eddie hardly noticed them, staring blankly at the space Richie had just been in. He felt cold, and not just from the absence of the other boy’s body. Richie wasn’t even looking at him, staring straight at the couple in front of them, jaw clenched and nails digging into his palms. Eddie finally turned to look at the couple, just in time to see them pulling apart from a kiss. The girl whispered something to her boyfriend, and as quickly as they had burst their way into the hallway, they were out of the school. 

Richie turned back to Eddie, eyebrows drawn together in a tight line. “Eds, I’m s-”

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom!” Eddie said, maybe a bit too loudly, if the way Richie flinched was any indication. Before the other boy could respond, he was rushing down the hallway. He made his way to the bathroom, leaning over the sinks as he caught his breath. Eddie’s heart was pounding, and he nearly reached for his inhaler, before remembering it was locked in Mike’s truck with his overnight bag. 

He groaned as he turned on the faucet, splashing his face with the cold water. “It’s fine. This is fine. It was just dancing, that’s all. It’s not that big of a deal.” He shook his head, reaching for a paper towel to wipe his face with. He closed his eyes. “It’s  _ fine.  _ I’m just gonna go back out there, like nothing ever happened. Because nothing actually happened! It was just-” Behind his eyelids, he saw Richie, illuminated in the shitty prom lighting, looking like something straight out of an art museum. He felt the phantom breath of Richie’s breath against his lips, letting himself imagine Richie finally close the distance between them. For a moment, he was convinced the other boy really was going to. 

“Fuck.”

___________________________________

Back inside the gym, Richie was pouring himself a cup of punch, halfway in a daze when he saw Stan come up to him.

“Shut up.” He said quickly. 

“I didn’t even say anything!” Stan threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“Yeah, but you were thinking.” Richie turned to face Stan, who was looking at him with one eyebrow cocked. “Stop it!”

“I’m not doing anything.” Stan said, barely able to stifle his grin. Richie shoved his shoulder, and that made Stan laugh. 

“I hate you.” 

“I know.”

___________________________________

The rest of the dance carried on as normal once Eddie rejoined the group, any lingering awkwardness receding after a few minutes. Every now and then, the four of them would all get up to dance, but by the time the third slow song of the night rolled around, they all collectively decided it was time to head out.

When Richie had realized he wasn’t getting out of going to prom, he had made the executive decision that they’d all be spending the night at his house afterwards. His parents were out of town for the weekend, and they really hadn’t had a chance to hang out as a group in a while. No protests were made, so when the boys left the school, they piled into Mike’s truck, making the quick drive to Richie’s. 

“Welcome to the party house!” Richie said as they walked in, throwing his arms out wide. He could practically hear the eyerolls from behind him, ignoring them as he put on an auctioneer voice. “We got snacks, we got games, we got movies, it’s a party!” 

“More importantly, you have a room where I can change.” Stan said, making his way towards the downstairs bathroom, already undoing his tie. Richie laughed as he did so. For someone who spends a good amount of time in button ups, Stan really hated formal wear. 

“Yeah, that too.” Richie said, shedding his own jacket and draping it unceremoniously over the back of the couch. He followed his jacket quickly, throwing himself down onto the couch, landing upside down on his back, quickly joined by Eddie. Mike sat on the open cushion beside Eddie, and Richie turned onto his stomach to look at him. “So, Mikey, you’re the one who gathered us all here. What are we doing?” 

Mike laughed. “Actually, I think you’re the one who gathered us to your house.”

Richie grinned, resting his chin on his hands. “Yeah, but you’re the one who got us all to do this whole prom thing in the first place. So, you get first choice of what we do.”

Mike paused for a moment, thinking. “Well, I don’t think I ever got that rematch in Mario Kart.” 

Immediately, Richie was up and turning on the T.V. “I was hoping you’d say that. Get ready to get  _ destroyed. _ ” 

“You said that last time and lost.” Mike grinned as he joined Richie on the floor, grabbing a controller as Richie put in the game.

“Oh, it’s so on.” 

They were into their second round when Stan came into the room, a bowl of popcorn in his hands. 

“Should I even try to get their attention?” He asked Eddie, sitting next to the smaller boy. 

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t think they’d hear you, honestly.” To prove his point, Eddie shouted, “Stan has food!” 

“What the fuck! Was that your fucking red shell!?” Richie shouted, and Mike absolutely cackled. 

Stan nodded. “Point taken.” The two sat back, watching as their second rematch round turned into a third, sharing the popcorn until it was gone. “Hey, come pop some more with me.” 

“Okay?” Eddie stood with Stan, following him to the kitchen. Stan made his way to the pantry, throwing a bag of popcorn to Eddie. He popped it into the microwave as Stan walked over, leaning on the counter next to him. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Stan asked. 

“Talk about what?” Eddie turned around, leaning against the counter as well. 

“Whatever went down with you and Richie.” Stan said, and Eddie immediately tensed up. Stan seemed to notice, putting a hand on the smaller boy's shoulder. 

“Nothing happened, really. We just went into the hallway to talk.” He said, looking down at his shoes. Stan was frowning at him, brows furrowed in concern for his friend. Stan squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t give me that look.” 

Stan sighed, though it wasn’t annoyed, as he moved his hand back to the counter. “If you say it’s fine, then it's fine. But we both know Richie is prone to doing stupid shit, so if he did, I just, you know, want to make sure you’re okay.” 

Eddie licked his lips, staring hard at his socks. He could tell Stan, about everything he was hoping Richie would say, how much he’d wanted to kiss him in that moment (the whole night, really), and he was pretty sure Stan would be okay with it. But Eddie was still trying to wrap his head around it, and he didn’t want to bring it up to anyone before he was able to understand himself. So he shook his head, looking over at the other boy. “Nah, just the usual Richie.”

Stan nodded, though he still had that concerned look on his face. “Alright. Just, you know I’m here if you need to talk.” 

Eddie smiled, bumping Stan’s shoulder lightly with his own. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Before either boy could say anything, Richie popped into the kitchen. He seemed to freeze for a moment, eyes flickering between the two boys in front of him. They were shoulder to shoulder, looking at each other with expressions that could only be described as soft. Richie shook his head. Stan would’ve told him if anything was up between the two of them, he was sure of it. 

“Why didn’t you guys tell us you were making popcorn?” He shouted, making his way over to the microwave. 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “We made some earlier, but you literally didn’t hear us tell you, dumbass.” 

“You wound me, Eds. I could never not hear your beautiful voice.”

Eddie felt his face heat up, the way it did whenever Richie teased him like that. “Don’t call me that.” 

He pushed himself off the counter, intending to just walk over to the microwave like a normal person, but once it started beeping, he and Richie both made a rush for it. They grappled for the button to open the door and at each other, both trying to open it themselves. The microwave kept beeping, and neither boy was making any process, too busy swearing at each other as they pulled the other away from the microwave. 

Stan rolled his eyes, calmly walking in front of the two and pulling the bag out of the microwave. 

“What the fuck, Staniel? I was gonna do that!” Richie shouted, arms wrapped tight around Eddie’s middle. 

“If you say so.” Stan replied, pouring the popcorn into the bowl. Before Richie or Eddie could say anything in retort, Mike popped his head into the kitchen.

“Is everything okay in here?” He asked, taking in the scene in front of him. He’d been a loser for a while now, but never quite got used to the wild antics the group got up to. 

Stan nodded, walking over to him. “Just the usual.” 

Mike nodded, laughing to himself as Eddie tried to pry himself from Richie’s grip. Richie didn’t let go, keeping one arm firm around his middle as he quickly moved his other to the boy’s legs, scooping him up into his arms. Eddie shrieked, wrapping his arms tight around Richie’s neck.

“What the fuck, put me down!” He shouted, flailing as Richie started to make his way out of the kitchen.

“No can do, my good sir.” Richie said in his british voice, much to Eddie’s chagrin. 

“Fine! Just don’t fucking drop me, asshole!” His face was bright red, and he was very glad Richie was looking ahead of him rather than at him. Mike and Stan were already making their way back to the living room, Richie following quickly behind them. He flopped down onto the couch, pulling Eddie on top of him as he did so. The smaller boy quickly squirmed his way out of Richie’s lap as the taller boy laughed. 

Almost as soon as Eddie was off of Richie, he shot off the couch. “I’m gonna go change real quick.” Richie said before darting up the stairs.

Once safely inside his room, Richie leaned against his door with a sigh. He took off his glasses long enough to rub his eyes, letting out another deep breath. After a beat, he put his glasses back on and began fumbling his way out of his tux. 

He knew he was being stupid, reading into things too much. Stan would’ve at least said something if something was going on between him and Eddie. Stan didn’t even like him like that. He was just being jealous over nothing. Besides, Eddie was the one who’d asked him to dance, and that had to have meant something, unless he was reading into  _ that  _ too much, too.

Richie shook his head as he tugged on an old t-shirt, a few sizes too big, but he didn’t really mind. He bent down, pulling out the bottle of vodka he’d nabbed from the liquor cabinet earlier that day, hiding it behind his back as he made his way back downstairs. By now, the others had changed into pajamas as well, and were busy bickering over a pile of VHS’. 

“Hey, so whatever you guys are talking about is cool and all, but you know what’s cooler?” He didn’t wait for a response before pulling the bottle out from behind his back. “Tah dah!”

“Richie, what the fuck is that?” Eddie asked as Richie made his way over to the couch, shoving himself between Eddie and the arm of the couch.

“What it looks like, dumbass. No prom night is complete without someone getting wasted.” He said with a grin. 

“Literally who told you that?” Eddie asked, rolling his eyes. “I’ve never heard of that.” 

“Well, clearly you aren’t asking the right people.” Richie looked at Stan, raising his eyebrows. “Stan, you know I’m right. Back me up here.” 

The other boy shrugged. “I mean, you aren’t wrong? I think? Given that none of us have ever  _ had  _ a prom night before, I don’t exactly have a good point of reference.” 

“See? Stan knows!”

“But he just said-”

Eddie was cut off by richie unscrewing the cap, tossing it aside as he took a swig from the bottle. “It's tradition, I tells ya.” 

He held the bottle out to the others. To everyone’s surprise, Eddie was the first to grab it, pausing for a moment before taking a small sip and gagging.

“What the fuck, that tastes like straight battery acid!” He handed the bottle back over to Richie, still gagging.

“That’s why you’re supposed to mix it with something.” Mike said, the others looking at him in bewilderment. “What? I thought that was common knowledge.”

“Alright, Mike, teach us how to make this drinkable.” 

Mike and Richie disappeared into the kitchen to see what awful concoctions they could mix up, and Stan moved to the open spot next to Eddie on the couch.

“Are you  _ sure  _ you’re okay?” He asked, and Eddie just shrugged. Stan sighed, unconsciously reaching for the other boy’s hand before remembering that wasn’t something Eddie was used to. “Eddie, whatever it is, you know I won’t judge you.”

Eddie looked away from Stan, folding his hands together in his lap. “It’s just...we were dancing, and I thought-” Eddie cut himself off, shaking his head and sighing. “It’s nothing. I’m just excited to be able to have fun without having to worry about my mom, you know? I’m not expected home until the afternoon tomorrow.”

Stan put a hand on Eddie’s arm and squeezed, making a mental note to drill Richie about what went down in the hallway, for real. “Alright. Wanna go make sure whatever they’re making will actually taste good?”

Eddie nodded, and the two went to join the experiment going on in the kitchen. After some testing, they settled on mixing the vodka with sprite, keeping both bottles on the coffee table as they bickered over which movie to watch.

“Richie, that is the worst possible movie.” Stan said as Richie held up a copy of  _ Killer Klowns From Outer Space _ . “Why do you even have that?” 

“Why  _ don’t  _ you have it?” Richie retorted before putting the movie back down. The four looked down at the pile of movies in front of them. They’d been arguing over this for a half an hour now, and Mike finally stood, drawing the attention of the group. 

“Richie, do you have any cards?” He asked, and Richie nodded. “Cool. Do you guys know how to play War?” 

And so they gathered around the table, Mike walking them through the rules. A few minutes into the game, they’d all gotten the gist of it, and it had quickly turned into the competition they were all used to. One game turned into two, then shifted into rummy, then go fish, and then the Uno deck was brought out. 

By now, both bottles were nearly empty, all of them decidedly no longer sober. Eddie seemed to be feeling it the most (this was the most alcohol he’d had since Bill’s parents had let them all have a glass of wine at Thanksgiving a few years back), louder and somehow more manic than usual, leaning heavily on Richie. 

“Hey, stop looking at my cards!” Richie cried, half-heartedly pushing the other boy off of him. 

“I’m not looking at your cards, dipshit. I don’t need to cheat to kick all of your asses.” Eddie proclaimed, giving them all a glare. 

“Prove it.” Mike said, and with that, the game was on. 

The game seemed to draw on forever, lots of draw fours and reverses pulled, the yelling of all four of the boys growing louder as the game kept going. Several UNO’s had been called, but no one had won yet. Eddie had just put down his second to last card in silence, and Richie grinned wildly. 

“UNO!” He cried, and Eddie jumped. “Draw two, fucker!” 

“What? Why?” Eddie asked, staring at the other boy in disbelief.

“You didn’t say UNO.” Mike said matter of factly. “So, draw two.”

“What the fuck! That’s not a rule!” Eddie cried. 

“It’s always been a rule! We’ve been doing it from the start!” Richie shouted back, and Eddie just stared at him in disbelief. 

“He’s right, it is a rule.” Stan said, and Eddie’s face scrunched up. 

“This is bullshit.” He grumbled as he grabbed two more cards. 

A few rounds later, Stan had ended up winning the game, and a mutual decision was reached to stop playing for the night. They threw on Richie’s copy of  _ The Goonies _ , none of them really caring which movie they watched. It was nearly three in the morning by now, and all of them were too drunk and too tired to stay awake much longer. Before the movie started, Stan and Richie had gathered some pillows and blankets for the group. Stan had curled up on the recliner and was snoring in minutes. (Richie would later tease him mercilessly about being a grandpa, to which Stan would politely tell him to go fuck himself.) Mike had followed soon after, a small pillow fort built around him as he slept on the floor beside the coffee table. Eddie had gotten up from his spot on the floor to go brush his teeth a few minutes ago, and Richie was half asleep on the couch when the smaller boy returned. He was walking back over when Richie closed his eyes, only for them to fly open when he felt Eddie climb onto the couch next to him. 

“The floor is super uncomfortable.” He said as a way of explanation. “Scoot over.”

“There isn’t room to scoot over.” Richie said, suddenly feeling much more awake. Eddie seemed to contemplate his words before lifting the blanket off of Richie, laying down on top of him and pulling the blanket up over both of them. 

Richie felt like his heart was going to stop at any moment, forcing his breathing into something normal as Eddie shifted between his legs, his chest pressed against Richie’s stomach, head resting on his chest. Richie lay still as the grave, mind still catching up with what was happening. Eddie laughed on top of him and Richie could  _ feel  _ it.

“What’s so funny?” Richie asked, grimacing at how strained his voice sounded. He was way too fucking drunk for this. 

Eddie giggled, fucking  _ giggled,  _ before ansewring. “I can hear your heart.” He laughed again, pressing his ear against Richie’s chest. “Like a fuckin drum in there.” 

Richie swallowed hard, knowing his heart was pounding a mile a minute. He hoped Eddie wouldn’t notice, especially as the smaller boy nuzzled closer. Things were quiet after that, Richie figuring that Eddie must have fallen asleep. His heart rate didn’t go back to normal, and he felt warm all over, but his breathing was finally calming down. Richie moved his arm that was squished between his body and the back of the couch, draping it over Eddie, and the other boy curled up closer to him. 

“Richie.” Eddie said, voice thick with sleep. Richie flinched and started to move his arm away. “Y’can keep that there. Don’t mind.” Eddie shifted so he was looking at Richie, chin digging into his chest. 

“Hey, dummy, you’ve got a pointy fuckin’ chin.” 

Eddie blinked slowly, taking a moment to process Richie’s words before grinning. “Yeah, well you’ve got a pointy nose.” He poked Richie’s nose, saying a soft “ _ boop _ ” as he did so. Eddie kept looking at him, chin still digging into his chest. 

Eddie shifted, scooting up so he was face to face with Richie, and Richie swore his heart stopped. “Hey, Richie.”

“Y-yeah?” Richie breathed, not daring to move. His heart was hammering against his ribcage. Eddie was staring down at him, a small smile on his face.

“Thanks for the dance.” 

Before Richie could say anything in return, Eddie leaned forward and kissed his cheek. His lips grazed the corner of Richie’s mouth as he pulled away, tucking his head under Richie’s chin. 

“G’night, Richie.” He slurred, already half asleep.

Richie didn’t reply, frozen in place as he stared down at Eddie. His heart was pounding in his throat, flushing from the tips of his ears to his chest. He’d kissed Eddie’s cheek plenty of times before, but never like  _ that. _ He honestly felt like he might pass out, or throw up, or maybe both. This was good, right? 

Eddie effectively cut off Richie’s internal monologue as he shifted closer, pressing his face into Richie’s shoulder. Richie sighed, tightening the arm that was around Eddie just a little. He yawned and closed his eyes, expertly pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind and let Eddie’s soft snoring lull him into sleep.


	10. The Dam Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW For homophobic language at the end of the chapter when Eddie gets back to his house

Late August 1994

Richie lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as one of the songs from the mixtape Eddie had made for him on his 16th played. He should be packing- he had two half-full suitcases lying open on his floor and piles of the various things he didn’t know he still had in his room. He was set to leave Derry at noon tomorrow, and he’d be on a plane to L.A. by four. He _should_ be excited. If he didn’t need his high school diploma for college, he would’ve been out of Maine the second he turned 18. Now it was real, he was finally getting out of Derry, and yet, he didn’t want to leave. 

His glasses had long been thrown onto his bedside table, as he’d been rubbing tears out of his eyes for the better part of an hour now. When he felt his eyes water again, he didn’t bother trying to wipe them away, closing his eyes and finally letting himself cry.

____________

Four months ago

“Alright, everyone have the stuff?” Richie asked, parking himself next to Eddie on the log he was sitting on. 

“Don’t say it like that.” Eddie said, nearly shoving Richie off the log in the process. “That makes it sound like its drugs or something.”

“Who says it isn’t” Richie grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at the shorter boy. 

“Richie, if you brought drugs, we’re making you go home.” Stan said from across the circle, rolling his eyes. 

Richie laughed. “I’m just fucking with you guys.”

Stan rolled his eyes harder if that was even possible before reaching into his backpack, pulling out a stiff white envelope. The others followed suit, and Stan looked between the other three. “Ready?” 

When the first college acceptance letters made their way to Derry, the Loser had made an agreement to hold off on opening their letters until they could all do it together. Mike was the first to get his letter, followed quickly by Stan and Richie, Eddie being the last to receive his. By the first week of April, all four boys had gotten their letters, and they met in the barrens, a nervous energy about them. 

They all nodded at Stan, and all at once the letters were being torn open. The reactions were all varying degrees of excitement, Mike smiling more at the others than his own letter, Stan grinning ear to ear, Richie letting out an excited whoop, and Eddie nearly falling off the log he was sitting on. 

“Holy shit, I got in!” Eddie cried, waving his letter around for everyone to see. Richie snatched it from his hands, face falling as he read it.

“New York?” 

Eddie nodded excitedly. “Yeah! I didn’t think they’d even look at my application. This is so fucking awesome!” 

Richie nodded, smiling at the other boy as he gave him back his letter. “That’s great.”

“What about you guys?” Eddie asked, beaming at the others. 

Mike was the first to hold up his letter, the Derry Community College emblem on the bottom corner of it. Richie’s frown deepened, eyes fixed on Mike.

“You’re staying in Derry?” Stan asked.

Mike shrugged. “My granddad wants someone to be around to take care of the farm.” 

“What? That’s so not fair!” Eddie cried. 

“It’s fine, honestly. I’m actually really okay with staying.” Mike said, giving the others a reassuring smile. “It’s probably not a bad idea to have a loser in Derry.” 

“Well, we won’t be too far from each other, then.” Eddie said, smiling back at Mike, thought it was much more unsure.

“I’m only gonna be a couple days drive away.” Stan said, grinning as he held up his own letter. “Georgia Tech.” 

Richie’s heart sunk deeper. That’s all three, then. 

Eddie whooped beside him. “That’s awesome!” 

Stan smiled wider, clutching the letter to his chest. Stan had wanted to go to Georgia for years now, and they all knew it. 

“I’m proud of you, Stan the Man.” Richie said, leaning over to pat him on the back. 

“What about you, Richie?” Stan asked, and all eyes were on him. 

Richie looked down as he held up his letter, unable to fully keep a grin from crossing his lips. 

“No fucking way.” Eddie said from beside him. “You’re going to L.A.!?” 

Richie nodded as Stan wrapped an arm around him. “That’s amazing, Rich!” When Richie just nodded, Stan’s brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. I’m fuckin stoked!” Richie said, not needed to look to see the disbelieving look Stan was giving him. “I’m just really gonna miss you guys.” He said the last part more to himself, but he knew the others heard him. Eddie put a hand on his arm, and Mike leaned over to put a hand on his knee. “I don’t wanna forget.” 

No one needed to say anything else, all of them knowing full well that saying they wouldn’t forget was a lie. It had started when Beverly stopped writing, the others assuming it was because she’d moved and lost their addresses, or something like that. It was simple enough to write off then, but when the same thing happened when Ben moved, they started to figure out something was happening. 

“Do you think It is doing this?” Bill had asked, and that became the running theory. It was all but confirmed after Bill moved away, letters stopping less than six months after he’d left. Bill had all of their addresses memorized, had for years. It was something the remaining Loser tended not to dwell on, but now it was staring them in the face, an unavoidable fate. 

It was quiet for a long while after that. Eddie slipped his hand into Richie’s, leaning against him as Richie rested his head on Stan’s shoulder. Mike moved from his spot on the log, putting his head on Stan’s lap as he took Richie’s free hand in his own. Stan wrapped his arm around Richie, his hand resting on Eddie’s shoulder. The four sat like that for a long while. None of them spoke, closing their eyes as they leaned on each other. Richie tried to sear this moment into his mind, wanting it to be just as vivid as the day of the blood pact, back when the Loser were still the Lucky Seven. 

Mike was the one who broke the silence. “I won’t forget you guys. I’ll remember- for all of us.”

Richie squeezed his hand, opening his eyes and smiling at the other boy. “Thanks, Mike.”

“Even if we forget,” Stan began, looking between the three of them, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget us. Not all the way. We might forget each other’s names, but you guys, all the Loser, you’re all the best friends I’ve ever had.” 

“Oh, Stanny-boy, that’s just the sweetest thing I ever heard!” Richie said in his old lady voice, slipping his hand out of Mike’s to pinch Stan’s cheek. 

Stan groaned and swatted his hand away. “I take it back. All of you, _except_ Richie.” 

The group laughed, but none of them made an effort to move, staying huddled together for the rest of the afternoon. Even when they got up to make their way back home, Eddie was still holding Richie’s hand.

____________

After that, the college topic was rarely spoken of, focus shifting to cramming for finals, and then to graduation. The Loser had a gathering after graduation, spending the weekend in Richie’s living room, serious topics ignored in favor of their usual banter and bickering. 

As the Summer went on, though, the topic of college was unavoidable. Reminders of move in dates and class sign ups flooded their mailboxes, plane tickets were bought, and the process of packing up their collective belongings had begun. Since he was the first to be leaving, the Loser had taken Richie out on one last hurrah, hitting up all their usual haunts (Richie was in hysterics at the sight that someone had beaten out his high score on Street Fighter, spending the better part of the afternoon fighting to get it back), ending the day with a swim around the quarry. 

He’d asked to be left alone the following day, though, and no one had questioned it. Although they’d tried to keep things as light as they could, there was a lingering darkness in the back of their collective minds, the elephant in the room. How long would it take before Richie would forget, too?

When they’d walked back to their houses, Stan had pulled Richie into a tearful hug, swearing he’d write for as long as they could remember each other. Richie nodded, the boys clinging to each other like lifelines. When they pulled apart, Richie ruffled Stan’s hair, the other boy swearing at him even as he rubbed his eyes hard, telling him to sort his shit out before he left. Then he was walking away and Richie sighed as he made his way back into his house, knowing exactly what Stan was saying. 

In the present, Richie picked up the portable CD player and walked over to his window, half-empty pack of smokes already next to it. He pulled one out, putting it between his teeth as he opened his window before lighting it. He turned up his music as he smoked, trying to control the shaking in his hands. 

It was, well, to say it wasn’t fair wouldn’t begin to cover it. Richie _should_ be bouncing off the walls, thrilled to finally leave his shithole of a hometown, going to a city he’d only dreamed of one day seeing. And maybe he would be, if all the Loser were still here and he didn’t know what was coming. But he did know, and he couldn’t even pretend to smile through this one.

How long did it take the others, he wondered. What memories went first? Was it going to be the bad ones first? No, if this really was the work of the clown like they’d suspected, there was no doubt it was going to be the good ones that would go first. 

He wished he could ask the other Loser, the ones who’d already left. What parts did It take first? Was it take moments, or did it take people? He remembered hearing something in his psych class he took in junior year; the first thing you forget about a person is their voice. 

Richie closed his eyes, trying to imagine what that would be like. A world where he wouldn’t be able to recall what Stan’s sarcastic quips sounded like, or the rise and fall of Bill’s voice as he stuttered through a moving speech. Bev’s lilting voice as she called him out on whatever shitty joke he’d just said. A world without Eddie’s voice in the back of his mind whenever he forgot to wash his hands; without his laugh, or cries of disgust that followed every dirty joke Richie threw his way. 

He’d forget, eventually. How Eddie’s nose crinkled when he laughed, the way the freckles that came out in the Summer covered his face like constellations in a way that left Richie feeling like an astronomer, wanting to catalogue each and every one. Eventually, when there was nothing else, he’d forget the way Eddie made him feel; nervous, sweaty, and flustered, but happy, and so hopelessly in love.

Richie wanted to scream. No matter what, there was no escaping it. If he stayed, the others would leave and forget him; he leaves, they all forget each other. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that they’d never put two and two together after the others had fallen out of contact, and that he could leave town like any other kid leaving Derry would. 

He was snapped abruptly out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, nearly jumping out of his skin. He turned to find Eddie standing there, that stupid lopsided grin he got whenever he pulled one over on Richie plastered on his face.

“Give me a heart attack, why don’t ya! Great going away present, really.” Richie said, moving to turn off his music, only to find that it was no longer playing. A quick check showed that the sun had dipped below the horizon, CD long since played out, his pack down to one cigarette left in it. He pulled his headphones off his ears, tucking them around his shoulders as Eddie laughed.

“Not my fault you’re unobservant as fuck.” He said, before scrunching up his nose in disgust. “You smell like an ashtray.”

Richie laughed, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulder. The smaller boy shrieked, pushing it off of him. “I’m beginning my transformation.”

“Into what, a cancer patient?” Eddie frowned, crossing his arms. “I didn’t even think you _could_ smell worse than you usually do.” 

Richie clutched his chest in mock offense. “Why, Eddie, I thought you liked how I smelled.”

“Not right now, I don’t. Go take a shower, or I’m leaving with these.” He said, holding up the rolled up comics he’d brought with him. Richie saw at least one that he hadn’t gotten his hands on yet, excitement bubbling in his chest.

“You would never!”

“Try me.” Eddie raised his eyebrow, and Richie laughed, ruffling the shorter boy’s hair as he made his way out of the room, grinning at Eddie’s undignified squeak. 

“And brush your teeth!” Eddie shouted at him down the hall.

“Alright, _mom_.” Richie shouted back, and he could practically hear Eddie’s annoyed huff from here. He turned on the shower faucet regardless, brushing his teeth as the water warmed up. A part of him felt guilty, he’d promised Eddie he’d quit several times over the years, and he really had gotten close this time. But he felt like an exception could be made, given the circumstances.

He showered quickly, taking just enough time to get most of the smoke smell off of him, swishing around some mouthwash for good measure. He realized belatedly that he hadn’t grabbed a clean pair of clothes on the way out, and a quick smell test proved that his shirt would definitely need to be washed. He tugged his pants back on, wrapping a towel around his shoulders. 

When he came back to his room, he expected to find the usual sight of Eddie making himself comfortable on whatever surface was clear from laundry, already buried in his comic. What he _didn’t_ expect was Eddie folding one of his shirts, placing it neatly in one of his suitcases. 

“Jeez, you really are my mom now.” He said, walking over to his closet to tug on whatever shirt was closest. 

“Well, clearly _you_ weren’t gonna pack this stuff up anytime soon.” Eddie replied with an eyeroll, grabbing another shirt from a pile of (he hoped) clean laundry next to the bed.

“Hey, I was packing! I was just taking a quick break.” Richie said, and Eddie turned to face him, one eyebrow quirked. “No, really! That suitcase over there has at least one shirt in it.” Richie said, gesturing wildly to the case in the corner. 

“Is it a _clean_ shirt?” Eddie asked, expression slipping into something downright smug.

“This is a hate crime.” Richie grumbled, wiping his glasses on his shirt.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Eddie cried. 

Richie waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.” He walked over to the bed where Eddie had set up his packing station, reaching for the stack of comics he’d brought, only to get his hand smacked away by Eddie. “What the _fuck_!”

“I’m gonna help you pack your shit first, since clearly you aren’t gonna do it yourself.” Eddie glared, and Richie glared right back. The stare down didn’t last long before Richie sighed dramatically, which Eddie smirked at. “Come on, it’ll go faster if we both do it.” 

“You know, your mom said something just like that to me last night.” Richie was met with a shirt being thrown at him.

“Shut the fuck up and help me pack.” 

Richie laughed, walking over to his small boombox, hitting play on whatever CD he’d left in there before grabbing a box of his own. The first notes of _Lovesong_ came on, and Richie was glad he was facing away from Eddie as he felt his face heat up. Of _course_ that’d be the song that came on. If Eddie had anything to say on the topic, he kept quiet, wrapped up in making sure all of Richie’s clothes were neatly folded before being packed away. 

Richie wasn’t so careful, though. He grabbed his stack of CD’s, a few books from his small bookshelf, and several action figures he’d collected throughout the years, throwing them all haphazardly into the suitcase.

“That’s how your shit gets broken.” Eddie said from across the room.

Richie just shrugged. “Wanna trade then?” 

“Do you even know how to fold clothes?” Eddie asked, voice thick with annoyance.

“Who doesn’t.” Richie walked over to Eddie, plucking the shirt he was holding out of his hands, balling it up and throwing it into the suitcase. “See? Perfect technique.”

Eddie was staring at him, mouth agape, and Richie swore he saw Eddie’s eye twitch. “Okay, no, that’s not happening. I guess I’m fucking teaching you to fold clothes now! How are you going to be a functioning adult and _not_ know how to do this?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m ever going to be a functioning adult.” Richie replied, grabbing a shirt from the pile regardless. Of course, he did know how to fold clothes, he wasn’t _that_ inept, but watching Eddie meticulously explain the steps to him with a scowl on his face was well worth it. 

True to Eddie’s word, the room was packed within a couple hours (not that Richie was planning on taking much with him in the first place), Richie flopping onto his bed with a sigh. Eddie joined him, reaching for his comics before catching a glimpse of the clock on the bedside table.

“Shit. It’s late.” Eddie frowned at the clock, Richie following his gaze.

“It’s only nine.” He said, though he knew what Eddie meant. Despite being 17, Eddie’s mom still kept him on a strict 10:30 curfew. “You could just stay the night.” 

Eddie seemed to ponder his words for a minute. “I don’t have my toothbrush.” 

Richie laughed and Eddie glared. “We have at least one extra toothbrush, dumbass. My dad’s a dentist.”

Eddie frowned, lips pulled into a thin line, the way they always did when he was thinking. 

“You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to.” Richie said, a little too quickly. He wanted Eddie to stay, alarmingly so, but the idea of getting him in trouble with his mother for something as stupid as a cerfew made his insides twist with guilt.

Eddie laughed a little, shoving his shoulder. “Of course I wanna stay, dipshit. I’m not gonna see you again for...for a while.” Eddie’s face fell, and Richie was overwhelmed with the urge to reach out and hold him. He dug his fingernails into his palms instead.

“You better get to calling her, then.” 

Eddie nodded and hopped off the bed, heading out of the room to the phone downstairs. 

“And tell her I’ll make sure to say a special goodbye before I leave.” Richie said with a wink. 

Eddie gagged, and Richie couldn’t quite tell if it was real or not. “You’re literally the grossest person I know, Rich.”

“You love it.”

Eddie didn’t answer, pausing in the doorway for just a moment too long. “I’ll be back.”

Richie stared at the door for a moment, trying to figure out what _that_ was about before flopping back onto his bed, grabbing one of the comics Eddie had brought over as the smaller boy’s voice carried up the stairs. The snippets of conversation he could catch sounded heated, but he did his best to drown it out. 

Most conversations Eddie had with his mom these days were heated. He never quite backed down after the gazebos incident (Richie remembered in vivid detail how proud Eddie was as he relayed the story to the group. Richie had thrown his arms around him, crying something along the lines of his little boy growing up, all the while chest bursting with pride), and their relationship wasn’t exactly the best afterwards. Richie knew she still got to Eddie, knowing how to hit him where it hurts. He also knew Eddie still loved her in some fucked up way, wanting nothing more than her approval. It made Richie want to vomit.

He pushed those thoughts aside for now, opening up the comic in his lap and letting himself get sucked into the colorful images. He was nearing the end of the prologue when Eddie came back into his room, looking more than a little flustered.

“Thanks for waiting for me, asshole.” Eddie said, climbing onto the bed next to Richie. “You better be willing to read that again.” 

Richie laughed and shoved Eddie’s shoulder with his own. “Not my fault you took so long.” That was definitely the wrong thing to say, Eddie’s face twisting into a frown. “Is she letting you stay over?” 

“Yeah.” Eddie said, though they both knew there was more behind that answer than either boy was willing to unpack. Eddie turned to look at Richie, smiling lightly at him. “I pulled the moving out card. You would’ve been proud.”

 _I already am,_ Richie thought. “Playin’ dirty, I sees. I love it!” He put on his old timey mobster voice, and it actually elicited a laugh from Eddie.

“I can play dirty when I need to.” He said, looking at Richie as he did. Something twisted inside Richie’s gut at the words, and he quickly looked away, the tips of his ears turning pink. 

“You’re a germaphobe, dumbass. Doesn’t that go against your whole thing?” Richie asked, trying to keep his voice even. 

Eddie laughed, more to himself than Richie. “Yeah, well, sometimes there’s no helping it. And, technically speaking, I’m germ-aware, not germaphobic.” 

“Says the guy who keeps two bottles of hand sanitizer in his fanny pack.”

“Okay, first of all, they’re travel size. Secondly, you never know when you’ll need it. If you’ll recall, they’ve come in handy a lot.” Eddie said, the topic finally shifting. 

“Handy for you, maybe.” 

“Just because you have awful hygiene habits doesn’t mean it’s not practical! Do you even know how many times I’ve had to use it on you because you refuse to clean your wounds? You’re too clumsy to _not_ keep some around.” Eddie said, waving his hands around as he spoke. 

“I was _there_ for all of those, dipfuck. Most of them didn’t even need to be cleaned.” Richie said, watching in joy as Eddie got more riled up.

“So you admit that there were times you needed it!” 

“I never said that! I just said that, on occasion, I needed to clean a scrape or something.” Richie said with a grin. “It’s absolutely ridiculous to carry around that much hand sanitizer.” 

“Richie, I swear-”

“Hey, are we gonna read these or what?” Richie said, cutting Eddie off with the wave of the comic he was still holding onto.

Eddie nodded. “We’re starting from the beginning, though.” 

“Works for me.” Richie replied. Eddie scooted closer until their shoulders were brushing, knees knocking together. Richie tried to school his expression to indifference as Eddie reached for a corner of the comic, bringing him even closer as he did so. They’d been in this position before, too many times to count, so it made no sense to be reacting like this.

 _It’s your last chance to tell him,_ his mind helpfully supplied. Richie was caught off guard by the thought, trying his best to ignore it. Then Eddie was leaning his head on his shoulder, and the reality of the situation settled in. This was the last time he’d be with Eddie like this, maybe for the rest of his life. The Loser had already agreed to see him off at the airport, but that wouldn’t be the same. _Your last chance._

Hesitantly, Richie shifted and put his arm around Eddie, hand resting on the other boy’s waist. Eddie’s grip on the comic tightened, an apology already on the tip of Richie’s tongue. Instead of pushing him away though, Eddie leaned in closer, resting the hand that wasn’t on the comic on Richie’s leg, just above his knee. It was like an electric current had struck him at the contact, and he resisted the urge to shiver under the touch. God, he was a mess. 

The two read in silence for a while, making their way through the prologue with only a few quips about the action on the pages. Maybe it was his imagination, but it felt like they were reading slower than usual. Eddie usually read at a lightning fast speed, having to wait for Richie to keep up, but tonight it was Richie waiting for Eddie to turn the page. Risking a glance at his friend, Richie found Eddie making the face he always did when he was deep in thought. Richie had already read the section they were at, and he knew for sure it didn’t warrant the amount of thought Eddie was apparently giving it. 

A fluttering nervousness bloomed in his chest. It wasn’t hope, at least, not fully. _Tell him,_ the voice in the back of his head told him. He felt his heart rate pick up and his palms start to sweat. What if he did? It’d be, well, it wouldn’t be easy, but he could do it. _Hey, Eds, I’ve had a crush on you since we were like eight, and it’s fine if you don’t feel the same, but I didn’t want to leave without telling you._ In his head, it sounded so rational. At worst, Eddie would leave, wouldn’t see him off at the airport, but he’d just forget either way, so that’d be fine. But at best? He felt the hand on his leg tighten, light enough that if he wasn’t hyper aware of it, he probably wouldn’t even notice. The small action sent a wave of courage through him. By now, he wasn’t even looking at the book, just staring down at Eddie. 

Eddie glanced up just for a moment, but Richie didn’t look away. Eddie closed the comic, taking in a deep breath.

“Eddie, I need to tell you something.”

“Richie, can I ask you something?” 

They said at the same time, and both boys laughed nervously. 

“You go first.” Eddie said. 

“No, you first.” Richie retorted. 

Eddie looked for a moment like he was going to fight him on this before sighing. He looked away from Richie at a spot on the wall just over his shoulder. “So, this is gonna sound really dumb.”

Richie felt a flurry of butterflies in his stomach, swallowing hard. “You always sound dumb, but go on.” 

Eddie huffed. “Shut up. This is serious.” Richie did, his whole body alight with nerves. Eddie sighed again, looking down at his hands. “Do you remember at prom, when we were in the hall?”

Richie felt his face heat up, looking down at his lap. “Yeah.” 

Eddie let out a deep breath, hand tightening around Richie’s knee. “I thought you were gonna kiss me.” 

Richie’s breath caught in his throat, his whole body going stiff. He risked a glance at Eddie from the corner of his eye. He didn’t look mad. Uncomfortable, maybe, but he looked anything but _mad._ “What if I was?”

“Were you?” Eddie asked. Richie nodded, not trusting his voice, too busy bracing himself for when the other shoe dropped. “Can...do you still want to?” 

Richie let out a humorless laugh, tilting his head up. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes, squeezing them shut. “I’ve wanted to every day since we were ten.” 

He heard Eddie gasp beside him, felt his hand leave his knee. His bottom lip quivered and he sucked in a deep breath, keeping his eyes scrunched shut. He didn’t want to look at Eddie, especially not as the bed shifted beside him.

“Richie.” Eddie said, Richie started to try to apologize when he was abruptly cut off by the crash of Eddie’s lips against his own. It wasn’t graceful; his glasses were digging into the bridge of his nose and their teeth kind of clashed, but to Richie, it was perfect. His hands moved on their own, gripping tight to the front of Eddie’s shirt; not pulling him closer, but keeping him close enough for Richie to know he was there. 

As quickly as it started, the kiss ended. Eddie pulled back first, his face pinker than the shirt he was wearing. Richie stared slack jawed at Eddie. His lips were tingling and he raised two fingers to them, making Eddie blush even harder, averting his eyes.

“Quit fucking looking at me like that.” He huffed, eyes flicking between the wall and Richie.

Richie didn’t listen, blinking slowly as he processed what had just happened. “You...you kissed...why?”

“You said you’ve wanted to do that since we were kids, right?” Eddie looked up long enough to see Richie nod, looking dazed. “Yeah, well, me too.”

The words hung heavy between them; Eddie keeping his eyes on _The Crow_ poster on Richie’s wall while Richie looked at him. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he mulled over Eddie’s words. _He wants to, too._ Wordlessly and without warning, Richie took Eddie’s face in his hands and kissed him. 

He kissed Eddie with every bit of gentleness he could summon. His mind was racing, obsessing over all the ways this could go wrong, all the ways it could go _right_ . Then Eddie was kissing him back; it wasn’t anything more than pressing their lips further together, but it was enough to clear his mind of any thought that wasn’t _Eddie._

He wrapped his arms tight around the other boy, pulling him closer until they were kneeling in front of each other, knees bumping as they gripped tightly to each other. Eddie brought a hand up to run through Richie’s curls, making the taller boy sigh into the kiss. _How did I ever think this would feel wrong?_

Eddie’s finger got caught in one of Richie’s curls, tugging his hair sharply as he tried to move his hand. The boys pulled away from each other, Richie cursing in pain as Eddie apologized. As Richie rubbed the spot where his hair was tugged, he locked eyes with Eddie. They stared at each other for a beat in silence before Richie felt laughter bubbling out of him. Eddie looked perplexed for just a moment before joining in with Richie’s laughter. Richie shook his head as Eddie giggled, and he put a hand on the back of the smaller boy’s neck, pulling him in so he could rest their foreheads together. 

“We’re really dumb, huh?” Eddie said, and Richie laughed even harder. “We could’ve done this years ago.” 

“Yeah, but we’re doing it now.” To accentuate his point, Richie pulled off his glasses, throwing them carelessly onto the floor before pulling Eddie into another kiss. Eddie laughed against his lips, the sound vibrating through him. 

Both boys lost track of time after that. They could’ve been kissing for minutes, or maybe hours; neither knew, and they didn’t care much either way, too wrapped up in each other. At some point, Eddie had shifted them so they were both lying on their sides, chests flush together and legs tangled together above the sheets. 

Eddie couldn’t recall a time in his life he’d felt as content as this. When he’d kissed Richie, he expected to spend the rest of the night a ball of anxiety, even after Richie had admitted to wanting to. But here and now, Richie had a hand cupping his face, the other resting on his hip, and he found that he _couldn’t_ be worried. He wasn’t thinking about all the bacteria they were sharing, whether or not he’d get sick from this, he wasn’t even worried about what would happen if they were caught. All he could focus on was the warmth of the boy in his arms and how Richie’s chapped lips felt against his own. 

After a while, they parted, out of breath with swollen lips and flushed faces. Richie was looking at Eddie under half-lidded eyes, and he couldn’t stop the words from coming out if he wanted to.

“I love you.”

Eddie’s eyes widened in surprise as soon as the declaration had fallen from Richie’s lips. His pulse, which was already racing, picked up even faster as he watched Richie’s own expression shift into that of surprise, and then into one of panic. Eddie closed the distance between them quickly, letting his lips linger for just a moment. 

“I love you, too. Dumbass.” 

Richie looked ready to cry, and Eddie imagined he did as well. This was better than anything he’d ever imagined. When Eddie had come to Richie’s house earlier, he had a half baked plan to confess. He’d gone over every approach in his mind as he walked to the Tozier’s; every scenario he’d imagined over the years, when the world was asleep and he was certain no one would be able to know what he was thinking. But his mind had short circuited when a teary-eyed Maggie had opened the door and pulled him into a tight hug. She’d thanked him for coming to see her boy off, and sent him up to Richie’s room with a tight squeeze to his shoulder. That simple action had hammered home the point that, for all he knew, he may never see Richie again, and all his careful planning had gone right out of the window. 

A week ago, he wouldn’t even allow himself to hope for this. He knew it wasn’t realistic, that he was simply reading too much into Richie’s actions. But now, Richie was staring at him like he’d hung the moon, their confessions heavy between them in the same way that a warm blanket on a cold morning would be. Eddie felt warm all over, not even bothering to hide the grin on his face, especially not when Richie was wearing one just as wide. 

“How long?” Richie asked, and Eddie blushed even harder, if possible.

“That Summer. When I was stuck inside. I couldn’t go out to see you guys, and even if I could, I was worried that none of us would be talking, you know? And I already knew I liked you, right? And I was trying to ignore it, and then you snuck in to visit me, and you left that stupid fucking comic.” Eddie cut himself off before he could ramble further, shyly looking up to meet Richie’s eyes.

Richie was staring at him the same way he looked at the stars on a clear night, full of wonder with something softer underneath. “Holy shit.” He breathed, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “That’s- That makes mine way more awkward.”

Eddie snorted. “You can’t just say that and not tell me, you know that, right?” 

Richie laughed and he moved to adjust his glasses, realizing a moment too late that they were on the other side of the room, nearly poking himself in the eye. “Not a word, Kaspbrak.” He put his arm back around Eddie’s waist, ignoring the boy’s attempt at stifling his laughter. “We were twelve. We all went out to get ice cream, and I stole a lick from yours. You started going on and on about strep throat and STD’s and all that. I remember just sitting there and thinking, _yep, he’s the one._ ” 

(Richie didn’t tell Eddie that he’d gone home that night and cried, or that he’d stolen a bottle of whiskey from his parent’s liquor cabinet, drinking until any thoughts of Eddie were drowned out. He didn’t mention that he’d felt guilty around Eddie for months after that, until Georgie went missing and he had something bigger to worry about.)

Eddie snorted. “I can’t believe you.”

“What can I say, health nuts really get me going. Why do you think I like your mom so much?” 

Eddie gagged and shoved Richie half-heartedly. “You’re so fucking gross.”

“You love it!” Richie said as he pulled Eddie into as best of a hug as he could manage while laying on his side.

“No, actually, I don’t.” Eddie said, looking up at Richie. “But I love _you._ ”

Richie sputtered as Eddie laughed, kissing his cheek. “You can’t just _say_ shit like that!”

Eddie hummed, quirking an eyebrow. “What are you gonna do about it?”

That was all it took to get Richie kissing him again. He could feel Eddie’s self satisfied smirk against his lips, but that only made him kiss him harder. Eddie _loves_ him. Without breaking the kiss, Richie rolled them over so he was leaning over Eddie, wrapping his arms fully around the smaller boy. He couldn’t help the smile that was crossing his lips and it was becoming increasingly difficult to kiss around it, so he pulled away. Eddie let out a small whine as he did so, which only made Richie’s smile bigger. 

“Cute, cute, cute!” He accentuated each word with a kiss to Eddie’s cheeks before ducking down to nuzzle against his neck, wrapping his arms tight around the other boy. 

“Wait, you actually meant it when you called me cute?” 

Richie snorted, propping himself up on his elbows to raise his eyebrows at Eddie. “No fucking shit, Sherlock. You’re the cutest person I know.” 

Eddie slowly blinked at him before pulling Richie up for a kiss. When they pulled apart, Eddie was crying. Richie started to panic, taking Eddie’s face in his hands. Eddie sniffled, rubbing hard at his eyes.

“Sorry.” Eddie took a deep breath. “I just- sorry.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay. You don’t need to be sorry.” Richie said as Eddie hiccuped, more tears coming. Richie wiped one away with his thumb, staring at his friend in concern. “Am I being too much?”

“No!” Eddie’s voice was louder than he’d anticipated, and he took a second to collect himself before speaking again. “No, Richie, you’re perfect. It’s just...I’ve wanted to tell you I love you for such a long time, and now that it’s all out there, we’re just gonna, what, forget it?” Eddie’s voice was rising, words running together and his breath quickening, tears running freely down his face. 

“It took me so fucking long to admit to myself I liked _boys,_ let alone you. And the whole time I had my mother breathing down my neck, talking about going to Hell and trying to keep me away from you because she thought you’d try to _convert_ me, and every time she says something like that I just feel more and more _afraid_ of letting anyone know. And now I find out that you love me too? Richie, I want to be happy, I _am_ happy, over the fucking moon, really. But what does it fucking matter when we’re just going to forget? I can’t- I can’t forget you.” 

Eddie sat up, dislodging Richie from his lap in the process, curling into himself as sobs wracked his body. He’d practically been shouting by the end of it, and a distant part of Richie’s mind was worried that his parents had heard him. Eddie’s breath was picking up fast, too fast, his face starting to turn red. Richie opened the drawer to his bedside table, pulling out the inhaler Eddie had left a few weeks ago, putting it to Eddie’s lips and pushing down to release the fake medicine. Eddie felt the tightness in his chest start to loosen as the bitter taste hit his throat. Richie pulled the trigger again before pulling the inhaler away, keeping it within arms length. He wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, holding him against his chest and running one hand through his hair, quietly shushing him. He had a death grip on Richie’s arm, probably strong enough to bruise, but Richie hardly felt it. He was pressing gentle kisses to the top of Eddie’s head, hoping it would be enough. 

Eventually, Eddie’s breathing had evened out, although it was still shaky. His grip on Richie’s arm loosened, sliding down to cup his hand which still had his inhaler in it. He let out a shaky laugh as he stared at the small device. “I thought this one was lost for good.” 

Richie shook his head. “Nope, I kept it. In case of emergencies, you know?” They both knew that Richie kept the inhalers Eddie lost (which was an alarming amount, really), and although Eddie had never actually directly thanked him, they both knew how grateful the smaller boy was for it. 

“You should keep it.” Eddie mumbled, wrapping Richie’s fingers around the plastic. 

“What, why? Don’t you need it?” 

Eddie laughed dryly. “I don’t really have asthma, dumbass. I don’t _need_ any of the ones I have.” They both knew he was lying. Sure, he didn’t _really_ have asthma, but whenever his anxiety was acting up, the first thing he would do was dig in his fanny pack for the inhaler. On the rare occasions he didn’t have it, his chest would feel so tight he actually felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

“I don’t have asthma either, dipshit.” Richie said, just a bit confused by Eddie’s statement. 

“Yeah, no shit. That’s not why I said you should keep it.” Eddie frowned. “You can breathe just fine, so, even after you...after we forget, if you have this, it’s like you’ll still have a part of me with you.” He shook his head, dropping his hand from Richies. “That’s so dumb, sorry.”

Instead of replying verbally, Richie got up and walked over to one of his suitcases, making sure Eddie was watching as he put the inhaler into it. He stumbled back over to the bed, nearly tripping over his feet as he did so in his half-blind state. Eddie laughed as he did, and his heart swelled. Once back on the bed, he pulled Eddie back into his arms, leaning them back so they were lying down with Eddie’s head resting on his chest. 

“You should take something from me, too.” He said, and Eddie nodded. “Even if it’s packed already, I don’t care.” 

Eddie yawned before he could say anything. He draped his leg across Richie, letting his body relax as best as it could. “I’ll pick something out in the morning. Make sure it’s something you’re gonna miss a lot.” 

Richie laughed, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s curls. “I’d expect nothing less.” 

From his spot on his chest, Eddie laughed, the sound vibrating through Richie’s body. “I love you.” Eddie said, voice thick with sleep.

“I love you too, Eds.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that.” Eddie grumbled, eyes slipping shut. Richie smiled down at the boy in his arms, closing his eyes and letting Eddie’s soft snores lull him to sleep.

The next day found Eddie in the back of the Tozier family car, the last of the Loser to be dropped off back at home. He was wearing one of Richie’s old hoodies, one of his ridiculously loud button ups balled up in his arms. 

_ He’s probably on his way by now.  _ Eddie thought, leaning his head against the window. It was a two hour drive to the airport, there was no doubt his plane had taken off by now. Eddie pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face into the shirt in his arms and breathing in the lingering scent. 

Back at the airport, he was stood next to Mike, who had an arm around him and Stan as they watched Richie’s parents fret over him. Richie looked like he was ready to cry as he pulled them both into a hug. After a long while, he said something to the both of them and they walked away enough to give Richie space to say goodbye to the remaining Loser. He hugged them each individually first before they all pulled him into the middle of a group hug. Stan was openly weeping into Richie’s shoulder as they embraced, and he was still crying hours later when Richie’s parents had dropped him off at his house. 

“I love you guys.” He’d said, and they’d all said it back. Then he’d asked for a moment alone with Eddie, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the family restroom before kissing him senseless. They whispered words of love to each other between kisses until the intercom announced boarding call for his flight. Richie reached up to wipe away the tears Eddie didn’t even know had started to fall, kissing him lightly one more time before taking his hand and walking them back to the gate. 

A final round of hugs were exchanged, half-hearted promises to keep in touch, knowing full well it wouldn’t last long. Then Richie was walking away, and Wentowrth was wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulder as they watched him leave. 

Eddie didn’t even notice they’d reached his house until he heard Maggie calling his name. He blinked back into the present, rubbing hard at his eyes. He’d been trying to keep it together in front of Richie’s parents, but judging by the sympathetic looks they were shooting his way, he wasn’t doing a good job of it.

“Eddie, honey, it’s going to be okay.” Maggie said, reaching a hand out to squeeze his knee. “You’re a good friend to him.” 

Eddie nodded, uncurling from the ball he’d turned himself into. “Thank you. For, uh, the drive home. And letting us come with you.” 

Richie’s parents smiled at him, and it was quickly becoming too much for him. He thanked them one more time before climbing out of the car. Walking back to his house felt a bit like a death march, his argument with his mother still fresh in his mind. 

_ “Eddie-bear, we’ve talked about this! I don’t want you sleeping over with that boy. What if he touches you?” _

_ “I don’t care. He’s leaving tomorrow, and I’m staying.” _

_ “Eddie-” _

_ He hung up. _

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door, not surprised to find his mother standing in the hallway, as though she’d been waiting. 

“Eddie, sweetie, who’s shirt is that?” She asked, eyeing him with the same suspicion she always did when he’d come home after hanging out with the Loser. 

“Richie’s.” He said, pushing past her to make his way up the stairs. He could feel her judging eyes on him, already feeling anger bubbling up. 

“Oh, Eddie, you should take that off. You don’t know what kind of germs could be on it. You can’t be too safe these days.” She began, and Eddie gripped the railing tighter. “It’s for the best that he left, really.”

Eddie whipped around. “ _ What? _ ”

“Eddie, he could’ve gotten you sick. You know what those queers carry.” She said. 

Eddie’s heart was pounding, he could hear his blood rushing in his ears. He clenched his fists tight around Richie’s shirt, looking down at his mother’s feet. “Mommy?” 

“Yes, sweetie?”

He met her eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” 

Before she could respond, he turned and ran up the stairs, slamming his door shut and locking it, pushing his desk chair up against it for good measure. He knew she was screaming for him downstairs, but he couldn’t hear it over the sound of his thoughts. In his mind, he could hear the Loser cheering for him. With his mother screaming for him downstairs, tears streaming down his face, Richie’s shirt clutched tight to his chest, Eddie laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

____________

A few years later, Eddie was cleaning out his dorm room. He had finally graduated, he had a job lined up, and he already had an apartment to move into. It felt, well, it felt amazing.

As he dug in the small dorm closet, his hand landed on a small box. He vaguely remembered putting it in there at the beginning of the year, but couldn’t remember for the life of him  _ why.  _ He picked it up and walked over to his bed, sitting on the edge with the box in his lap. He slowly opened the lid (he felt nervous, why did he feel nervous?) and looked at the contents with confusion. Inside, neatly folded, was an obnoxious hawaiian shirt. Was it his roommates? 

A pang of nostalgia hit him, so hard it was almost painful. He nearly dropped the box as he doubled over, feeling the familiar sting of tears in his eyes. In his mind, there was a flash of dark hair and glasses, the smell of cigarette smoke and the feeling of chapped lips on his own. Then the vision was gone, and he was left clutching the shirt to his chest, crying for reasons he couldn’t even begin to place. 

Unbeknownst to him, across the country, one Richie Tozier was holding an inhaler in his hand, wondering for the millionth time why he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mods asleep post the rest of the fic before adhd brain makes me forget to do it


	11. The Plunge

July, 2016

When Eddie finally left the hospital, it was a week later and he was  _ starving.  _ He was waiting in the patient pick up area for the Losers, and all he could think about was how hungry he was. Of course, he’d been overjoyed when his friends had pulled up in Bill’s car, happy to answer their questions about how he was feeling and if he was still in pain until Mike had mentioned grabbing lunch before  _ something,  _ but Eddie hadn’t heard what that  _ something  _ was, zeroing in on the idea of getting food that wasn’t re-hydrated and nuked in a microwave. So, after a quick stop at the diner on the outskirts of town where Eddie practically ate his weight in fries, the Losers found themselves standing at the Quarry. 

It wasn’t that Eddie was surprised to be there. Bill and Mike had pitched the idea of going there together, for old times sake. (They’d gone after Eddie was safe in the hospital, getting right to the edge of the cliff leading down to the water before deciding that they wouldn’t take the plunge until he could do it with them.) Hell, he’d even jumped at the idea. It was just that he’d forgotten the part where the other Losers would want to go  _ in  _ the Quarry. 

He watched from the safety railing as the others leapt over the edge (Beverly went first, she’d always gone first), a heavy lump in his throat. Safety be damned, he wanted to leap with them, to be able to feel like a teenager again. But the ache in his abdomen screamed at him, reminding him that he couldn’t have jumped even if he wanted to. 

Richie, who was the last Loser perched on the edge of the cliff, turned back to grin at Eddie, only for his smile to falter at the sight of his friend. Eddie hadn’t moved since they’d climbed over the railing, arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

“Eds, you coming?” 

Eddie resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he said, “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” Richie was looking puzzled at him, so he huffed and unzipped his hoodie, pulling it aside enough for the other man to see his brace. It was no secret that Eddie had gotten hurt, but the doctors had been tight lipped about the  _ extent  _ of Eddie’s injuries to anyone but himself and Myra. And, well, Eddie didn’t want to be the one to bring down the room with the news that he’d literally broken his back. 

Richie just stared for a moment, wide eyed and confused before walking over to Eddie. “Alright. We’ll walk down, then.” Richie took one of Eddie’s hands in his own, holding it tight. “So you don’t slip.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, but kept a tight grip on Richie’s hand nonetheless. “Alright, lead the way, Trashmouth.” 

The walk down to the bank of the quarry was a short, albeit overgrown one, signs that it hadn’t been used for anything more than a deer or two in a long while. True to his word, Richie kept a tight grip on Eddie’s hand the whole way down, taking the path a bit slower than needed. Part of Eddie wanted to be annoyed and insist they should walk faster, but then Richie would grip his hand tighter when they crossed a bumpy patch and the words died in his throat. By the time they reached the bank of the quarry, the others were already splashing around in the water like they really were thirteen all over again. Bev was the first to spot them, smiling to herself when she saw their linked hands. 

“Took you two long enough to get down here!” She shouted, drawing the attention of the other Losers. 

Richie laughed, letting go of Eddie’s hand long enough to wrap his arm around his shoulder. “Spaghetti head wouldn’t let me jump off.  _ You’re forty, you might slip a disk and die! _ ” 

“I don’t sound like that, asshole!” Eddie shoved Richie’s arm off his shoulder, ducking his head to hide the grin he was sporting. 

Bev snorted as Bill asked, “Are you coming in?” 

Richie paused, looking between Eddie and the water, almost as though he were asking for permission. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at the idea, but then Richie was giving him a  _ look  _ and he realized that he really  _ was  _ doing that. While they were walking, Eddie had mentioned that he wouldn’t be able to actually swim with the others, and Richie had never liked to do things if Eddie couldn’t do them too. 

Eddie shoved Richie with his shoulder. “Go head.” 

“Are you sure? I can stay out here with you if you want.” 

Eddie shoved him harder. “I’m sure. Go swim in shitty water.” 

Richie grinned and practically sprinted towards the water, shedding his shoes and jacket as he went. He jumped in with an exceptionally big splash, Mike getting the most of it. Eddie laughed under his breath and moved to sit on a fallen tree, watching the others splash around. Slowly, his eyes slipped closed as the sounds of his friends shouting grew more and more distant. 

_ He hurt.  _ **_Fuck,_ ** _ did he hurt. The crack of his spine was like a gunshot when he’d hit the wall of the cavern, and he could feel his innards shift out and then back into place when he hit the ground. Pain seemed to be blooming from every part of his body, and yet the wound on his chest felt numb. He’d told them how to kill It, could hear them doing so from the other side of the cavern. God, he hoped it would work.  _

_ It had to work. _

_ Coming back to the Losers was like coming back into a childhood bedroom after years of not being home. There were new things, sure, and things that he couldn't remember ever even forgetting, but it felt familiar, it felt  _ **_safe._ ** _ And now, below the streets of Derry, he was sending every bit of energy he had into killing the clown so he could hold onto that feeling.  _

_ He could feel the hurt fading, now. He could feel the warmth of Richie’s hand against his, but not his own limb. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was dying, and it was just a matter of  _ **_when._ **

_ Eddie watched wide eyed as Richie screamed at It, furious in a way Eddie had never seen. And yet, when the other man looked at him, it was like he’d never been angry to begin with. It was this realization, along with the hope that saying it out loud would convince his body that he needed to get out of here long enough to follow through on his words, that made him say; _

_ “Richie, I need to tell you something.” _

_ “I know, you fucked my mom.” Richie said with a smile, but even Eddie could tell it was forced. _

_ “No, dumbass, this is important.” Richie immediately shut up, eyes wide in rapt attention. Eddie took in a breath and  _ **_fuck,_ ** _ he could’ve cried from how bad it hurt. He reached up and gripped Richie’s collar tight in his hand. “Richie, I-”  _

_ His words were lost to painful spasms, hands falling to the ground as he shook. He felt hot, could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck. God, he was going to need a long shower after this _ .  _ Then, distantly, he heard Richie say he was going to be right back, and he panicked. He tried to reach after the other man, but he was already up and gone, and Eddie’s body had decided to give up at that moment. As he slumped against the cold rock, he whispered into the cold, damp air of the cavern, hoping by some miracle Richie would hear his words.  _

“I love you.” Eddie sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm. Telling him in the cavern had seemed so easy; he had a 50/50 (more like 90/10, really) chance of getting out long enough to deal with the aftermath. But now, he was  _ alive,  _ and in the  _ real world,  _ and his actions had consequences. He didn’t know if Richie even remembered half of what Eddie did. “Fuck.”

“You okay there, Eddie?” 

Eddie jumped. “Jesus, Bill, warn a guy next time.” Eddie frowned at the man on the log beside him, who was giving him a sheepish grin. 

“Sorry, I thought you heard me come up.” He said, turning to watch the others in the water. Eddie watched Bill from the corner of his eye, the way his eyes tracked all of the Losers, as if he was making sure they were all safe. 

Eddie bumped his shoulder. “Forget me, are  _ you  _ okay?”

Bill blinked in surprise, looking back over at Eddie. “Me?”

“No, the squirrel next to you.” Eddie said, laughing as Bill actually turned to look for the squirrel. “Yes, you. How’re you holding up?” 

Bill looked ready to say he was fine, the way he always had. Putting on a brave face for the others in the name of being the leader, making them feel brave in turn. But one look from Eddie told him that wasn’t what Eddie was looking to hear, so he sighed. 

“I’m good. It just...This doesn’t feel real. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and I’ll be back at home and this will all have just been a dream.” Bill sighed and leaned on his elbows. He looked tired. Eddie put a hand on his back, hoping it was helping. “I saw Georgie. A-and I saw m-m-me, as a kid. When we all got sep-sep-se-, fuck, split up.” 

Eddie sat awkwardly next to Bill, rubbing circles on his back and hoping it was helping. Bill had a far away look in his eyes, as though he were reliving that moment right then and there. “It’s over now.”

Bill looked over at Eddie when he spoke, taking in every inch of the other man’s face. Finally, he looked away with a dry laugh and a shake of the head. “Yeah, it is. It really is.” 

The two sat in silence for a while after that, watching the rest of the Losers as they splashed around in the water, letting their laughter settle over them as it echoed around the quarry. Eddie really let it all settle in; the warmth of the sun on his face, the joyous laughter from his friends, the calming presence of Bill beside him. He smiled to himself. 

“Mike’s going to Florida.” Bill finally said. 

“Oh. Well, good for him.” Eddie said, still half in a daze. 

“I think I might go with him.” 

That got Eddie’s attention, and he turned to look fully at his friend. “Really?” 

Bill shrugged. “Audra called. She said she...n-needs some time. To ‘evaluate our ruh-relationship.’” He put air quotes around the last part of the sentence, sighing sadly. “I don’t exactly have anywhere else to g-g-go, and Mike offered, so.” 

Eddie nodded, patting his shoulder. “I’m sorry, man.”

Bill shrugged again. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are you doing, when you leave?”

Eddie frowned and looked away from Bill. Words like  _ divorce  _ and  _ moving out  _ floated through his head as his gaze slid to the Losers in the water. The sun was still high in the sky, though the idea of setting had begun to cross it’s mind. It reflected off the water, shimmering onto his friends, making them appear almost angelic.

His gaze shifted to focus on Richie, without him even realizing it. He’d broken off from the group, glasses skewed on his face and hair dripping into his face. He tried pushing it back only to have drops of water splash from his arm and onto his face, making him recoil. He lost his balance in the process, falling heavy into the water as the others laughed. When he popped back up, he was grinning brilliantly and looked over at where Eddie and Bill sat. 

Bill followed his gaze and wordlessly bumped his knee against Eddie’s, giving him a knowing smile. Eddie ducked his head, smiling more to himself than to Bill as the other man patted his shoulder. 

“What are you girls talking about?” Richie called over to them as he made his way out of the water. 

“Beep beep, Richie!” Bill called back, giving Eddie’s shoulder a squeeze before standing. He gave Richie a small thumbs up as he went, out of sight from Eddie, but if the way Richie nearly tripped over his own feet was anything to go by, he’d seen it. Bill laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he made his way back to the water. 

Although he didn’t see what had made him stumble, Eddie sure as Hell saw the aftermath. When Richie sat down next to him on the log, he was still laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up! Next time you fall, I’ll make sure to laugh even longer.” Richie said, which only made Eddie laugh harder, and fuck if that wasn’t music to Richie’s ears. Richie leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his hand and watching Eddie with a soft smile as his laughs gradually died down. He turned to say something to Richie, but the words were caught in his throat at the other man’s expression. Even though time had changed some things about Richie, Eddie could still see that dorky kid with the too-big glasses in him. And right now, all Eddie could think was  _ that’s how he looked at me when I kissed him.  _

He cleared his throat, looking away and fiddling with the edges of his sleeves. “Quit staring at me like that.” 

Richie made a non committal hum. “No can do, spaghetti man. You’re too much fun to look at.”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie said, looking away and hoping he wasn’t blushing. Richie laughed, slinging an arm over Eddie’s shoulders as he did so. 

“Fuck, that takes me back.” He sighed, making no move to take his arm away from Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie didn’t do anything to shrug it off. “This is weird, right?”

“What is?” 

“This!” Richie said, gesturing around the quarry. “I mean, I didn’t know who you guys even were until a week ago, and now it's like…” He trailed off, moving his arm around as if to convey what he was trying to say without having to actually say it.

“It’s like I can’t believe I ever forgot you.” Eddie finished. “A-all of you, I mean.” 

Richie nodded. “Something like that, yeah.” He took his arm off of Eddie, leaning forward on his elbows again. Eddie couldn’t help but shiver at the loss of contact, hoping the other man didn’t notice. “I thought after we killed It, we’d get all our memories back. Like a big fuckin’ wave, but instead of water, it’s trauma.”

Eddie snorted. “I’d rather not be hit with your trauma wave, thanks.” Richie grinned at him, bumping their knees together. “I know what you mean, though. It’s like it’s all coming back in bits and pieces.” 

“What’s it been like for you?” Richie asked, and Eddie quirked an eyebrow at him. “What’s coming back first?” 

Eddie sighed, leaning back on his hands. “The important stuff, I guess. All the big moments.” Had he been looking at Richie, he’d see the way that he stiffened at that, shooting Eddie a hopeful glance. As it was, Eddie was looking at the Losers in the water as he laughed to himself. “I cussed out my mom, the day you left.” 

“No fuckin’ way.” Richie sat up a little straighter, scanning Eddie’s expression. Eddie nodded, and Richie laughed, clapping him on the back. “Holy shit! I knew you had it in you, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that, dipfuck. And, really, it was your fault I did it. I got home and she started talking about being glad that you left and, fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been that angry at someone.” Eddie said, shaking his head. He finally looked over at Richie, who was still staring at him dumbstruck. He had a grin but it was quickly fading as his eyes roamed across Eddie’s face.

He licked his lips nervously, pressing his lips into a thin like before saying, “How much else do you remember?”

Richie didn’t need to elaborate for Eddie to know exactly what he was talking about. A familiar fluttering filled his chest and he quickly looked away. “Bits and pieces.” Richie was sitting up straighter now, hands planted on the log beside him. Eddie hesitated for a moment before reaching out, gripping Richie's hand tightly in his own. “I remember enough.”

Richie let out a sharp gasp, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “I kept it.”

“What?” 

“The inhaler. I kept it. It’s in my bag, back at the inn.” Richie said quickly. “I always kept it with me. It was like if I didn’t have it, I was going to let someone get hurt or something.” 

Eddie laughed and scooted closer to Richie, pausing for just a second before leaning his head on his shoulder. “I have your shirt, too. It’s in my closet.” 

Richie rested his head against Eddie’s, intertwining their fingers. Neither spoke after that, knowing that if they did, they would have to  _ talk.  _ For now, they were content to sit leaned against each other until the sun had finally decided to begin to set. Eddie nudged Richie with his shoulder, gesturing to the water with his head. Richie grinned, giving his hand a quick squeeze before heading back to swim with his friends before the last of the day’s light slipped away. 

Dusk came and as the six of them made their way back to the inn, Richie wasn’t completely convinced that this wasn’t all just an elaborate dream as a way of dealing with, well, everything. But then Eddie’s knuckles would brush against his own, or Mike would say something that was just so  _ Mikey  _ that Richie couldn’t have imagined it if he wanted to. But knowing this was all real came with the unfortunate side effect of  _ reality,  _ and Richie knew it was only a matter of time before it caught up with them. When they finally got back to the inn, dead tired and wanting nothing more to collapse into bed, Richie was unsurprised to find an incredible number of missed calls from his manager, along with even more mentions on various social media, all wondering where he was. 

He put off calling Steve for another day, deciding it would be a Morning Richie problem. He did, however, scroll through twitter when he saw that his name was trending. Apparently half the internet was convinced he was on drugs and, fuck, he felt bad for Morning Richie and the earfull he’d be getting. He shut off his phone, putting it on top of his nightstand as he stood and began changing into something more sleep appropriate. 

Eddie hadn’t said a word about the quarry the whole way back, and had quickly gone to his room when they’d gotten back. Richie tried not to take it personally; he was probably exhausted and didn’t want to have that particular conversation yet. He quietly filed that into Morning Richie’s problems as well, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to leave Derry without talking to Eddie. 

He’d just gotten comfortable under the covers when there was a knock at his door. He groaned and pulled the comforter up over his head. “Fuck off, I’m trying to sleep.” 

The knocking just got louder. He groaned even louder, kicking his feet over the edge of the bed and truding his way to the door. When he opened it, he was greeted to Eddie with a fist raised to knock at the door again, a small bundle of clothes in his arm. 

“Can I use your shower?” Eddie asked before Richie could say anything. “I haven’t had a proper one since we got here.” 

“Yeah, sure. Mi casa es tu casa and whatnot.” Richie said, stepping aside to let Eddie in. Without a word, Eddie made his way to the bathroom, leaving Richie to stare after him in bewilderment. It wasn’t until he heard the sound of running water that Richie realized he was still standing in his doorway, door wide open. A cursory glance down the hall showed that everyone else was in their rooms, so he shut his door quietly and made his way back to the bed. 

He sat on the edge, staring intently at the bathroom door. His mind was racing with what exactly was happening. Sure, it made sense that Eddie wouldn’t want to shower in his own room. Fuck, he’d be surprised if Eddie could even sleep in there tonight. But after the quarry, surely there had to be more to it. He mentally switched the  _ talk  _ from a Morning Richie responsibility to a Current Richie problem, rubbing his hands across his face as he did so. 

When several long minutes had passed with Eddie still showering (Richie remembered how long he’d taken after the fight and, although he didn’t expect Eddie to stay in long enough for the water to run cold the way he had, he wouldn’t put it past him), Richie let himself lie back on the bed, hoping that maybe if he was asleep, they could deal with their feelings in the morning, if they were to deal with them at all. He and Eddie had a long history of tiptoeing around things like conversations about their  _ feelings,  _ so he wouldn’t be surprised if things just went unacknowledged. 

He let out a long sigh as he pushed off his glasses, rubbing his eyes and sinking back into the stiff hotel bed. He let his eyes slip closed, focusing on his breathing and trying to drown out the sounds of running water. He’d just started to doze off when the shower cut off, and after a long moment Eddie was poking his head from behind the door. 

“Are you still awake?” He asked. Richie let out a long groan as an answer. “Get up, dipshit. I need the bed.”

Richie cracked one eye open, peering over at Eddie. He was hovering awkwardly in the doorway to the bathroom in a loose t-shirt with a towel wrapped around his waist, fidgeting with the pants balled up in his hands. “Why?” 

Eddie huffed, turning his head away from Richie. “I just need it, okay?” Richie sat all the way up but didn’t move from the bed, staring intently at Eddie. Finally, the other man huffed again, still not making eye contact with Richie. “I need to lie down to get my fucking pants on. Happy?” 

“Oh.” Richie said as he stood. “Well if you’d just lead with that-”

“Shut up.” Eddie grumbled with no real heat behind his words as he crossed the room. “And don’t fucking look.” 

“Easier said than done, spaghetti man.” Richie said, shooting Eddie a grin before heading into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and ignoring the cry of Don’t call me that. 

He brushed his teeth, asked Eddie if he was decent, washed his face when Eddie said he wasn’t. He asked again, and was met with an annoyed “Stop asking.” 

So he did, shuffling around the cramped room. Even through the door, he could hear Eddie’s frustrated cursing, and if it wouldn’t have been a weird thing to suggest, he would’ve offered to help. He settled instead to sit on the toilet seat, literally twiddling his thumbs and trying not to dwell on the image of a half-naked Eddie sprawled out on his bed. 

“Richie?” Eddie called, and Richie was up in an instant.

“Yeah?”

There was a pause, and then, “I can’t get my brace back on.” Another pause. “That means come help me, dumbass.” 

When Richie came back into the bedroom, he was greeted with a now fully clothed (thank God) Eddie frowning at the wall across from him, brace spread out beside him. “What can I do for ya, ol’ chap?” It’d been a hot minute since he’d busted out one of his voices outside of his act, although he would tell you with pride that they were still as good as when he was a kid. Better, even.

Eddie seemed to disagree. “How has that voice gotten worse?” 

“Fuck you, it’s great.” He crossed the room, sitting beside Eddie on the edge of the bed. “Really though, what do you need me to do?” 

“Just- get behind me and hold it in place.” Eddie said as he handed the brace over to Richie. He took it, shifting to sit behind Eddie. He let the other man instruct him on what to do, watching as Eddie adjusted the brace around his lower back. 

“What happened to you?” 

Eddie faltered, nearly letting go of the straps he was adjusting. “Nothing serious.” He said it too quickly, and Richie quickly recognized the tone. It was something Eddie had developed over the years when he was trying to hide a wound or ailment from his mother and, later, the other Losers, not wanting them to worry or, worse, take care of him. 

“Bullshit.” Richie said. Eddie didn’t reply, focusing instead on finishing tightening his brace. When his hands fell away, Richie quickly took them in his own. He scooted closer to where Eddie’s back was nearly pressed against his chest. Eddie sighed, leaning into Richie. “You don’t have to deal with this on your own.” 

Eddie was quiet for a long while, rubbing his thumb over the back of Richie’s hand. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

“Cross my heart and hope to-” He cut himself off when he felt Eddie’s grip tighten. “Promise.”

“Three of my vertebrae fractured when I- when I was thrown. The doctors said I was a few centimeters away from paralysis.” His breath hitched, because  _ fuck  _ it was hard to talk about. When he’d found out the extent of his injuries, he’d broken down in the hospital bed, hyperventilating until he was seeing black spots in his vision. 

“And, obviously the whole....this.” He motioned towards his chest, heavily bandaged under his shirt. Eddie couldn't help it- this was the most he’d talked about any of this, and he trusted Richie enough to tell him most of what happened. “I was actually dead for a bit. I died twice on the operating table. Everyone was really shocked that I even made it.” 

Richie was glad Eddie had made him promise to not freak out, because he was about a second away from doing just that. He just pulled Eddie closer, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting his head on his shoulder. “Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Eddie said, laughing. Richie held him as he shook, unsure if he should join him or not. Eddie was shaking harder in his arms, one hand moving to grip like a vice around his forearm. Richie sat there, unsure of what exactly to do. He  _ thought  _ Eddie was still laughing, but then a violent sob shook Eddie hard enough to shake the bed beneath them in time with his grip on Richie’s arm tightening even further. 

“Eddie, are you-”

“Inhaler.” Eddie gasped out, releasing Richie’s arm to pat the bed around them in search of the small plastic device. “I need-” Another shake cut Eddie off. Richie quickly moved from behind Eddie, doing a quick scan around the room to find the inhaler. He spotted it resting on the bathroom counter and practically sprinted over to it, heading quickly back over to Eddie and pressing it to his lips (a feeling of nostalgia that he would dwell on later overwhelming him) and releasing the fake medicine. It only took two triggers from the inhaler before Eddie’s breathing was calming back down. As he calmed down, Richie sunk to his knees, placing one hand gently on Eddie’s knee and the other on the bed beside him, inhaler still clutched tight in it. 

“Eds, hey, it’s okay. I’m here.” Richie said as gently as he could, gently squeezing Eddie’s knee. 

“Fuck!” Eddie cried, pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Fucking fuck!” His breathing hitched as he moved his hands past his eyes and into his hair, briefly tugging at it until he heard a concerned noise from Richie. He lowered his hands, letting them hover in front of him for a moment. Then he grabbed Richie’s arms, pulling the other man up as best as he could. Richie quickly caught on, starting to stand up only to be stopped once he was eye level with Eddie by the smaller man wrapping his arms around Richie’s chest. Richie was hugging him back before he even made the conscious decision to, resting his head against Eddie’s chest, feeling tears of his own beginning to fall.

“I was...Richie, I was  _ dead. _ ” Eddie said, voice shaking. “I should be dead right now.”

“No!” Richie pulled back abruptly to look Eddie in the eyes. He quickly took off his glasses to wipe at his own eyes, putting them back on to see the other man clearly. “Don’t you  _ dare  _ say that. You should be alive, you-”

“No, Richie, I shouldn’t! This isn’t some fucking suicidal thing, I literally should not have made it. I  _ died,  _ Richie. Even the fucking doctors think I should be dead!” Eddie tried to stand but his legs screamed at him, letting him know that they were going to refuse to hold his weight. 

“But you aren’t.” Richie said, voice barely above a whisper. He cupped Eddie’s head, attempting a smile. “You made it, Eds. You got fucked up, sure, but this? This is real. You’re really here. You  _ made it. _ ”

Eddie stared at him for a long while before closing his eyes, reaching around to cup Richie’s head in turn and pressed their foreheads together. “It doesn’t feel  _ real. _ ” 

Richie sighed, breath hot between them. “I promise, Eds, this is real.” He leaned back, moving his hand to cup Eddie’s non-bandaged cheek. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

“Of course I fucking hurt!” 

“Would you hurt if this wasn’t real?” Richie asked, stroking across Eddie’s cheekbone with his thumb. “That’d be kind of a fucked up thing for our brains to do to us, right?”

Eddie stared at him dumbfounded for just a moment. Then he let out a dry laugh. “It’s always weird when you get all serious like that.”

“Yeah, well,” Richie shrugged, “It can’t be dick jokes all the time.” He said, attempting his best Brandon Lee voice. 

Eddie laughed, pressing their foreheads together again. “Did you really just try and make a  _ Crow  _ reference?” 

“Did it work?” Richie asked with a grin. Eddie laughed. His eyes were still watering and his breathing was still shaky, but he  _ laughed.  _ God, Eddie had missed this. Richie always found a way to make him laugh, even when he was at his absolute worst. It didn’t always work, sure, but it was one of the constants he had to hold onto as a kid. No matter how bad things got, he always had Richie there to help him back to some semblance of normal. And in this moment, with his panic temporarily reduced to background noise, he realized just how  _ much  _ he’d needed this.

It was this train of thought that inspired Eddie to say, “I’m leaving Myra.”

“Congratulations?” Richie said, beginning to pull back. Eddie laughed, his breath hot across Richie’s lips. He shivered. “Is that why she was yelling?”

Eddie shrugged. “Among other things.” He paused, licking his lips. “Rich, when I told her, I...oh, fuck it.” Before Richie could even ask what he was going to say, Eddie had pulled Richie back towards him and was kissing him.  _ Fuck,  _ he was kissing him! 

Richie let out a surprised yelp against Eddie’s lips. Before he could even start to return the favor, Eddie was pulling away. Well, that just wouldn’t do. Richie surged forward to capture Eddie’s lips against his own. He could practically  _ feel  _ the tension melt off of Eddie as he wrapped his arms around Richie’s shoulders. Richie let out a sigh, making a note of how it made Eddie shiver against him. 

Later, both men would have a silent revelation that  _ this  _ is what they had been missing. Every sloppy hookup, every secret relationship, it was all them trying to find their way back together. Neither would handle this new revelation in particularly healthy or constructive ways, but that’s for later. 

Richie pulled away as slowly as he could, trying to savor the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his own for as long as he could. “So does this mean I'm a homewrecker?” He asked.

Eddie groaned. “Shut the fuck up.”

“It’s a legitimate question!” Richie cried, unable to hold back his grin. 

Eddie just rolled his eyes, which only resulted in Richie letting out a laugh and pressing his forehead against Eddie’s neck. Eddie sighed, wrapping his arms around Richie even tighter and resting his chin on the taller man’s head. Richie chuckled to himself, a short joke on the tip of his tongue, but Eddie cut him off neatly with a loud sigh. 

“You should sleep in here tonight.” It was out before Richie could do anything to stop himself from saying it. “Not for like, sex stuff. I mean unless you’d- back, shit, nevermind, just because, you know, Bowers and all?” 

Eddie nodded, letting go of Richie and adjusting himself until he was neatly under the covers, on his side with a pillow between his knees.. When Richie made no move to, well, move, Eddie huffed and lifted the covers, eyeing the spot next to him. Richie blinked a couple times before climbing under the covers himself, laying so he was facing Eddie. 

Eddie let out a small, almost nervous laugh. “Feels like we’re teenagers again, huh?” 

“It really does.” Richie said, silently reaching for Eddie’s hand only to find it already resting on the mattress between them. “Eds, I...we should talk-”

“No.” Eddie said, almost too quickly. “Rich, I’m really tired. We..we’ll talk in the morning.”

Richie nodded, already feeling a pit in his stomach open up. “Yeah, we’ll talk in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting all the rest of this fic in one day so I can stop forgetting to do it


	12. Functioning

They didn’t speak of it in the morning. They laid in bed until noon, holding each other and sharing old stories (but never  _ kissing,  _ they both noted with some disappointment), but they didn’t  _ talk  _ about it. They continued to not talk about it until the day Eddie got in his car to drive back to New York. 

“Call me when you get home.” Richie had said, taking Eddie’s hand in his own. 

Eddie had nodded, giving Richie’s hand a squeeze. “I will.” 

Eddie was frowning, and Richie wanted to lean forward and kiss it right off of him. He may have even tried to, had Eddie not started talking. “Look, I’m not good at-” Eddie had started, gesturing between them. “At this. I don’t even know if I  _ can  _ do this. I want to, fuck, do I want to. I just…” He trailed off, the silence thick between them. 

“It doesn’t have to be a thing.”

Eddie nodded, giving Richie a sad smile before pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled into Richie’s shoulder, and Richie just held him tighter. He didn’t say anything, he wasn’t sure if he  _ could  _ say anything. He understood.  _ Fuck  _ did he understand. Richie had only really dated two guys before, and even then, he’d broken things off quickly because he just didn’t know how to  _ deal  _ with it. Kissing, hooking up, all that was easy. There didn’t have to be feelings. But this? This was new, and it was something Eddie had never even dared to try. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to. 

Richie had pressed a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head before they pulled away from each other. Eddie had sighed, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Call when you get home?” Richie asked again.

“I will.” Eddie said. He’d paused, opening his mouth as if to say something, but he’d closed it quickly, giving Richie a tight lipped smile. “See you around, Rich.” 

“You too, Eddie.” 

Then Eddie had climbed into his car and had driven away from Derry (away from Richie, his feelings,  _ everything _ ). The next day, Richie was on a plane back to L.A, a hollow feeling in his chest. 

Now, Richie was sitting on his couch, idly scanning Netflix, a glass of bourbon in the hand that wasn’t holding the remote. His apartment felt too big, too empty, too  _ lonely.  _ He supposed it had always felt that way, but he’d never  _ noticed  _ until now. He poured himself another glass of bourbon, turning on a random baking show. At some point, he’d wrapped himself up in a blanket (Mike’s blanket, he’d realized. It was old and scraggly, but he’d found it in the attic of his parents house after they’d both passed, and he’d felt that it was important enough to keep), clutching a pillow close to his chest. On the screen, one of the contestants was going on and on about his dog. Richie grabbed his phone, pulling up the group chat Ben had formed for the Losers. 

_ Richie: I think I’m gonna get a dog _

_ Mike: Aren’t you about to go back on tour?  _

Fuck. 

_ Richie: I think I’m gonna get a dog after my tour _

Mike sent a series of thumbs up emojis. Richie grinned, putting his phone to the side and pulling the blanket a little closer around himself. He’d be the best fucking dog parent in California. That little fucker was gonna be so spoiled. He’d get him a bunch of fancy little sweaters, and Eddie would make sure he had all healthy food, and-

Richie drained the rest of his glass, pushing aside thoughts of dogs and Eddie and any sort of future where the two overlapped. Eddie was still in New York, and, although he’d told them he’d moved into a solo apartment, he’d never once mentioned to Richie that he was ready to  _ talk,  _ and Richie had never pressed the subject. They still kept in close contact, texting nearly every day, making an effort to call once a week, but it felt different. Distant, even. Richie sighed, poured himself another drink, and curled up with a pillow against his chest, watching as someone burned their cupcakes. 

________

If you were to ask Eddie how his life post-Derry was going, he would smile and tell you that things were going just fine. Dandy, even. Sure, his workload had doubled as a kind of punishment for leaving with no warning. And, yeah, maybe he couldn’t stand looking in the mirror, especially shirtless because the sight of his scars made him want to throw up. And sure, he went to sleep clutching a pillow tight to his chest most nights, thumb hovering above the call button on Richie’s contact but never  _ quite  _ pressing it. 

But he was fine. He was in his own apartment (a simple one-bedroom, smaller than any place he’d lived in since college), and his divorce was just about to be finalized. He still had his job, he still had his friends, and, fuck, he was still  _ alive _ . That should be enough, right?

For the first month or so, it was. He’d still text the others pretty much every day, call them as often as he could. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have friends in New York. He’d go out for a drink with a few co-workers every so often (something he’d never had the opportunity to do with Myra) (and he’d never admit it to the folks he went with, but he kinda hated it). He had physical therapy twice a week, and regular therapy every two weeks. So he got out, he saw people, he was, as his therapist would say,  _ functioning.  _

That was a good word for it; functioning. He went through all the right motions, did all the right things, things that  _ should  _ make him happy. But that was all it was, just going through the motions of someone who had their life together. 

He’d built up walls without even realizing it, convincing himself that this was all he needed. But then Richie would do something dumb, like sending him a picture of a cute dog he’d seen that day, or Bev would send a picture of Ben looking at her all lovestruck, and the walls would start to crumble. Suddenly, coming home to an empty apartment seemed a lot more lonely. Falling asleep alone seemed near unbearable. He  _ ached  _ with loneliness, finding himself wanting nothing more than to come home to someone (Richie) draped across his couch, greeting him with a hug and maybe a kiss on the cheek. 

(Although he’d never admit it to anyone outside his therapist, he’d nearly called up Myra on his more pathetic nights, having half a mind to beg her to take him back. She would, too. She’d swaddle him up in her arms, kiss him lightly on the forehead in an almost motherly way, and he’d feel the same kind of sick he always did around her, but dammit, he’d feel  _ safe _ .)

But he never actually  _ did  _ anything about this. He filled his head with fever dreams of a life with Richie in California, of leaving the city and all its confines behind. He had half a mind to do it, too. Just pack up his stuff and hop on a plane without a second thought. Of course, then he’d start making excuses. His job, for one. He couldn’t just up and leave again. Even if he were to quit, he’d want to do it the right way, keep them as a reference. And his divorce was still fresh, it didn’t feel right to leave so soon after. 

Really, though, he was scared, and deep down he knew it. He’d never so much as been on a date with another man, or really anyone besides Myra. He’d  _ been  _ with a man before, sure, but that felt like a lifetime ago, and even then he’d felt disgusted with himself for it. Even if he  _ did  _ go to California, what did he even plan to do? Freak out when Richie tried to hold his hand? Have a panic attack when they actually had to  _ talk  _ outside of a dimly-lit bedroom? He wasn’t lying when he’d told Richie he wasn’t sure if this was something he could even do. 

So he pushed down his longing, ignored the creeping thoughts of what could be, content to just go through the motions. He was doing just fine.

________

Eddie wasn’t fine. His chest ached something fierce, almost as bad as it had when the painkillers had worn off the first time in the hospital. He was doubled over, breathing coming out harsh and his heart beating hard against his ribcage. God, he  _ hurt.  _

_ It felt like a really hard punch when the claw had gone through him. He looked down in horror, seeing the claw sticking out of his chest, Richie below him with his blood splashed across his face. Then the real pain had started. It felt like he’d been stabbed over and over again with dozens of hot pokers, and if he wasn’t in so much shock he was sure he would’ve been bawling. Before he knew it, he was being flung across the cavern. As he fell, he had a sudden moment of clarity.  _ I’m going to die down here. 

He took in a sharp gasp, pressing his hands into his wound as though that would stop the pain. Thank God his back had healed (it’d been nearly four months since Derry by now), he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle that. Pain like this wasn’t anything new. He’d feel a dull ache from his scars every so often, sometimes more than just an ache. It was rare that it ever got this bad. 

He forced himself to sit up, reaching first for the heat pack he kept beside his bed (Bev had been the one to suggest it, and while it didn’t take the pain away, it gave him something else to focus on), then for his phone.  _ Richie,  _ he thought,  _ I need to talk to Richie.  _ This also wasn’t an uncommon thought. He’d pull up Richie’s contact, stopping short of actually calling him. But this time his dream had been so vivid, he  _ needed  _ to call. Richie was safe, he was grounding. He’d know what to say. 

He unlocked the phone with shaking hands, taking in a deep breath and holding it before pulling up Richie’s contact. He was just about to call him when his screen lit up with an incoming call from the very person he was going to try to talk to. 

“Richie?”

“Eds, holy shit. Hi.” Richie sounded out of breath, almost panicked. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked. 

Richie took just a second too long to reply. “Yeah, I’m good. I just needed to hear your voice.”

The honesty in his voice took Eddie aback, his breath catching in his throat. He let out a breathy laugh. “I was actually about to call you.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” Eddie winced as a sharp stab of pain hit him, pulling the heating pack a little closer. “Same reason as you, I guess.”

Richie got quiet again. Eddie heard the sounds of him moving around. Richie had been pacing for the better part of twenty minutes by now, trying to shake the dream he’d had from his mind. Eddie wasn’t dead, he’d told himself. He  _ saw  _ Eddie alive just a few months ago. Even still, his anxiety wouldn’t let him be until he could hear Eddie’s voice. 

“Bad dreams for you too, huh?” Richie finally asked.

Eddie nodded, briefly forgetting that Richie couldn’t see him. “Yeah.” 

“Do you, y’know, wanna talk about it?” 

Eddie sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Not especially, no.” He scratched just below the scar on his cheek (it was a big, ugly thing; pinkish-white and indented, standing out harsly against the rest of his face). “Do you?”

“No.” Richie said a little too quickly. He sat back on his bed, grabbing a nearby pillow and holding it to his chest. “I don’t think I’m getting back to sleep anytime soon.”

Eddie hummed. “Neither am I.”

“So much for beauty sleep.” He said, and Eddie could hear the smile in his voice. “Not that you need any.”

Eddie couldn’t help but smile, heart fluttering in his chest. “Beep beep, Richie.”

He could hear Richie laugh. “So, how’ve you been?”

“Good. I’ve been good.” The words felt forced, even to his own ears. He was sure Richie noticed, but the other man didn’t comment on it. “I’m actually in therapy now.”

“How’s that been going?”

So Eddie told him. The conversation flowed from topic to topic after that. Eddie filled him in on some of the less boring details of his life ( _ “Kareoke night is a fucking nightmare.” “That’s because you’ve never done it with me, Eds.” _ ). Richie talked about how his tour was going, and how ready he was for it to be over. Eddie couldn’t tell you how long they talked, but it was long enough for his eyelids to start feeling heavy. He yawned loudly.

“I think I’m gonna go back to sleep.” He said, cutting off Richie’s story about a little local restuarant he’d gone to ( _ “they had the best fucking mozzarella sticks I’ve ever had” _ ). 

“Oh, okay.” Richie said, sounding distant. “Can you stay on the line?”

“While I sleep?” 

“Yeah.” Richie said, quickly tacking on, “Only if it’s okay with you. I know it sounds weird, but after my dream I just- I want to know you’re there.” 

Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of that, but Richie had asked him to do weirder things. And if he was being totally honest with himself, the idea of falling asleep to Richie’s breathing didn’t sound like a bad idea. “Okay.”

Richie beamed, holding the pillow tighter to his chest. “Thank you.”

Eddie smiled to himself, resting back on his pillow. His chest still ached like mad, but it was dulling to the point where his body could actually focus on getting back to sleep. He put his phone on speaker as he sunk into his pillow. “‘Night, Rich.”

“Goodnight, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie grumbled, and he was out. Richie stayed up for a long while after that, resting his phone beside him and listening to Eddie’s soft snores coming through the speaker. 


	13. Hey There Delilah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for the Richie plays music headcanon and that's all I'll say

This, in and of itself, became a strange routine. Every so often one of their phones would ring at odd moments (Eddie quickly caught on to Richie’s less than healthy sleeping habits and chewed him out for it, though he wasn’t doing much better himself), always being answered with a call or a quick reassuring text. As time grew on, calls began to come more frequently. Eddie would often come out of a meeting with several missed calls from one Richie Tozier, only to check his voicemail and find out Richie was very excited about a new show he saw that Eddie would  _ definitely  _ love. (They were almost always cheesy medical dramas, and as much as he hated to admit it, a few of them had managed to suck Eddie in.) If Eddie had an especially shitty day at the office, it would be Richie he called to vent about, mosty for Richie’s colorful commentary on the whole thing. 

Which is how Eddie found himself up at three in the morning, listening to a drunken Richie shout about pet policies. 

“I mean, what kind of apartment doesn’t let you have a dog!? Even just a small lil’ guy! Y’know, like, real fuckin’ small. Like, you sized!” 

“Fuck off, Rich.” Eddie said, taking a sip of his own drink. Not alcohol, of course, he wasn’t  _ quite  _ healthy enough for that again. But Richie had insisted they drink together (to his endless misfortune, he’d said), and then laughed mercilessly at Eddie’s choice of a seltzer water. 

“You fuck off!” Richie said, smile clear in his voice. “Honestly, though, not even like a tiny dog? I even pulled the emotional support card, and nada!”

Eddie laughed at that. “They’re fascists, truly.” 

Richie whooped loud enough that Eddie had to pull the phone away from his ear. “Exactly what I’m sayin’! That would be the most well-behaved dog in the history of California.” 

“With you as it’s dad? I beg to differ.” 

“Beg away, Eds.” Those words sent a wave of heat to the pit of Eddie’s stomach, which he tried to fight off as best he could. Fortunately, Richie kept talking. “Her name would be Sandy.”

“Why Sandy?” 

Richie shrugged. “Just seems like a good name for a dog. Besides, imagine the references you could make!”

Eddie let out a long, long sigh. “If you’re naming your hypothetical dog Sandy just to sing songs from Grease-”

Eddie was cut off by Richie absolutely  _ belting  _ the opening to  _ Sandy.  _ He was  _ very  _ drunk at this point, most of his words coming out slurred, but his singing voice made Eddie’s chest flutter just as much as it had when they were kids. He honestly was speechless; he hadn’t heard Richie sing in nearly two decades. A wave of (longing) nostalgia hit him like a ton of bricks, and all he could do was listen. 

Finally, the song ended and Richie was laughing. “See, works perfectly!”

“I didn’t know you still sing.” Eddie said before he could stop himself.

On the other end, Richie hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t really, anymore at least. I mean in the shower sure, but-” He paused again, scratching his stubble. Really, he should shave soon. “Wanna hear something crazy?”

“Do I?” Eddie asked, subconsciously tightening his grip on his bottle of seltzer water. 

“You do. But you can’t tell any of the other Losers, okay?” He didn’t wait for Eddie to reply before saying, “I was in a band.”

“No the fuck you weren’t.” 

“I was! Lead singer and everything!” Richie said with a grin.

“Bullshit! You hated singing in front of people!” Eddie cried, trying to picture it. Lanky, bug-eyed Richie Tozier fronting a band. He probably wore his ugliest hawaiian shirts for it, too. It was a funny image, sure, but one Eddie had trouble really picturing. 

“I was! We started as an Offspring cover band and then we just started doing our own thing. Hold on, I have some pictures around here somewhere.” Richie got up and headed to his bookshelf, pulling out an old box with all his old photo albums. 

“An Offspring cover band, really?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it, Eds.” 

“Alright, what were you called?” Eddie asked. 

“The Offsprung.” Richie said, still digging through his photo albums. 

“You just made that up right now.”

“Did not!” 

“Absolutely did!” 

Richie grumbled under his breath before letting out an Ah-ha! “Found it! Hold on, Eds, you’re gonna eat your words.”

Richie flipped open the photo album to the page he knew had the photo of the band on it. He quickly snapped a picture, sending it to Eddie. 

Eddie opened the message almost as soon as he got it. Sure enough, it was a picture of Richie and four other guys, the words “The Offsprung + Danny” scrawled underneath it. For a long while, all Eddie could manage to do was stare. Despite having heard plenty of stories from Richie’s college years, he’d never actually had a visual to pair with it. He’d always pictured 13-year-old Richie. But the guy in this picture, while it was definitely still Richie (coke bottle glasses and tacky button up sealing the deal), he was someone Eddie had never even been able to imagine. 

His hair was down to his shoulders, curls out in full, frizzy force. He’d just started to shed his teenage lankiness, shoulders just starting to broaden, He had a bit of stubble, though it was clear he was still trying to figure out how to deal with that particular problem. He was wearing one of his awful button ups under a leather jacket, guitar in one hand and his arm wrapped around the guy sitting next to him. 

Weirdly enough, this guy didn’t seem to be part of the band. The rest of them had the same grungey look that Richie did- not quite clean, definitely went a few days without a shower. One had frosted tips all spiked up, and another had a bright red mohawk. The only girl in the picture had half her head shaved and what may be considered an excessive number of facial piercings. The guy Richie had his arm around, though, was clean-cut; his hair was neatly combed, he was wearing a goddamn sweater vest, and he wasn’t holding an instrument (or, in the girl’s case, drumsticks.) If Eddie really dwelled on it, he’d come to the conclusion that this guy looked a bit like him, but he refused to dwell on this.

“Wow.” Eddie said, hardly aware that he’d even said it. 

“I look that good, huh?” Richie asked with a wink, despite knowing Eddie couldn’t see it.

Eddie frowned. “Actually, I was gonna tell you that you look like you need a shower. All of you do.” He paused, licking his lips. “Except for the guy next to you.”

Richie laughed. “Well, yeah, he wasn’t actually in the band. He had an excuse.” 

Eddie frowned again.” You guys seemed close.”

Richie’s breath hitched a little, thumbing the page the picture was on.  _ Of course we do,  _ he wanted to say. Danny, after all, was Richie’s first “real” boyfriend. Neither were anywhere close to out at the time, but an after-show party led to a conversation, then to something else, and then Danny asked him out officially. They kept it a secret, even from the band. It was going well and fine until Danny’s parents heard a rumor that he was gay and sent him away to a conversion camp. Richie never did find out what happened there, only that Danny refused to even meet his eye when he came back to school. Richie sighed, rubbing his eyes, dimly aware that he’d started to tear up. 

“Yeah, we were. He was...a good friend.” Richie sighed and took another drink. He heard Eddie start to say something but cut him off quickly. “Now you.”

“Now me what?” Eddie asked. Part of him wanted to push the subject. Richie had never so much as mentioned this guy to him before, and some sick part of him wanted to know every detail. But with as weird as things already were, he wasn’t about to push it.

“I just told you something nobody knows about me! Now it's your turn!” Richie said. “Tell me something nobody else knows.”

Eddie fidgeted in his seat, gripping his bottle of seltzer water tight. God, the things he could say.  _ I’m in love with you,  _ for one.  _ I’ve known I was gay since I was really young but the thought of being in a relationship with another man makes me want to throw up, but I’m in therapy for that,  _ as another. “I have a tattoo.” He said instead.

‘Bull-fucking-shit.” Richie said immediately. “You were always such a bitch about tattoos, there’s no way you have one.”

“Thanks, asshole.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “I do. I got it not long after I moved to New York, as kind of a fuck you to my mom.”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Send me a picture of it! Pics or it didn’t happen, Eds.” Richie said with a grin.

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Eddie cried, feeling his face heat up. Yeah, no, a picture wasn’t happening. “I can’t.”

“Yeah, because it’s not real.”

“No, its-” Eddie let out a long sigh. “It’s a phoenix.”

“Does the phoenix have a huge dong or something?” 

“No! Jesus, Rich.” Eddie huffed over the sound of Richie’s cackling. “It’s in a...sensitive spot.”

Richie laughed out loud. “Edward Kaspbrack, do you have a tramp stamp?”

“No! God, Rich, no!” Eddie groaned. “I wanted to get one but I didn’t want my mom to see it so its..it’s inside my thing.”

Richie felt his mouth go dry. “Damn, Eds.”

“Don’t fucking-”

“Wait, how is that not something more people know? I mean, you  _ did  _ have a wife.” Richie said, trying to stop his mind from racing. An  _ inner fucking thigh  _ tattoo. Eddie was trying to kill him.

“Yeah, but we didn’t- she never really, you know,  _ saw  _ it.” Eddie said, feeling a flush creep up his neck. It was no secret that he and Myra were never too intimate, and when they were, it was usually a lights-off get it over with as quickly as possible affair. 

“Dude, she was your  _ wife!”  _ Richie laughed, shaking his head. “Has  _ anyone  _ seen it?” 

Eddie went very,  _ very  _ quiet. It had been years, of course, but… “Holy fuck, Eds! They have!”

Eddie dropped his phone and buried his face in his hands, groaning loudly. 

“Do you still have it?” Richie asked.

“Why does that matter?” Eddie snapped, picking up his phone.

“Claws away, Eds. It’s just a question.” Richie said, taking a gulp of his drink. God, the  _ places  _ his mind was going. He tried to fight it, really, but  _ damn.  _

“Removals are super expensive, man.” Eddie said, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, yeah, I still got it.”

“Not gonna lie, that’s super fucking hot, dude.” Richie scratched his stubble again, trying to push down the images coming to mind. He was 40 for fucks sake, he shouldn’t be loosing it over a tattoo like a fucking teenager.

Eddie nearly choked on the water he was taking a sip of. He coughed a few times before saying, “Well, what about you? Do you still play?”

Richie frowned a little, looking down at the photo that was still on the table in front of him. He hadn’t touched a guitar in years. “Nah, not really. Never had a reason.” 

Eddie hummed. “That’s too bad. I wanted to hear if you still had it.”

“I bet I do.” Richie said with a grin.

“Better prove it then, huh?” Eddie said. 

Richie sighed, closing the photo album. “If you were here, I’d be putting on one of our records so you could eat your fucking words.”

“That was you  _ then  _ though, I need to know if you have it  _ now. _ ” Eddie said, shoving down the nervous fluttering at the  _ if you were here. _

Richie laughed. “You got me there.” He sighed, staring down at the drink in his hand. He swirled the ice around absently. “I miss you.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but hearing Eddie’s breath hitch told him that he’d fucked up. Richie took a long sip from his drink.

“I miss you too, man. I miss all the Loser.” Eddie said quickly, surprised his bottle wasn’t cracking with how hard he was squeezing it. 

Richie licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. He’d started digging already, and maybe it was the alcohol, but he was  _ tired  _ of all this. “No, Eddie, I miss  _ you _ .” 

Eddie put down his drink in favor of gripping his leg so tight he was sure it was going to bruise. “Richie, I-”

“Can’t do it, I know.” Richie sighed loudly. “I know.” He paused, swirling the ice in his drink again. “Why’d you kiss me, then?”

“Why’d you kiss back?” Eddie said quickly. He felt his hands start to shake (Richie wasn’t doing much better.)

“You know why.” Richie said. He felt the familiar sting of bile in the back of his throat, but he pushed it down with another swig of his drink. It’d been five fucking months, he was tired. 

Eddie stood, letting go of his leg. He clenched his hand into a fist tight enough that he was leaving crescent-moon shaped indents on his palm, nearly hard enough to draw blood. “Richie, don’t-”

“Don’t  _ don’t  _ me, Eddie. Listen, you don’t want it to be a thing. Fine, great. I’ll get over it. I just want to know why you kissed me.” Richie said. Eddie expected him to sound angry, and at first, he did. But, honestly, he just sounded  _ tired.  _

“Are you mad at me?” Eddie asked before he could help himself. God, he sounded pathetic. 

Richie blinked in surprise. “What? No? Eddie, why would I be mad at you?” 

“ _ I’d  _ be mad at me! I mean, what, I just…” He sighed, clenching his fist even tighter. “I’m a coward, Richie.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that. You’re so fucking  _ brave _ .” Richie said, and Eddie could tell he had more to say, but he didn’t want to hear it.

“I’m not, Richie. I’m not. Because if I was, I wouldn’t be in therapy. I wouldn’t have married a carbon fucking copy of my mother. I would’ve gotten my stupid  _ fucking  _ tattoo in a place other people could see it.” Eddie was dimly aware he was shouting now. “I’m a fucking pussy, okay?”

“Eddie-”

“No! No, I’m not-” Eddie reached his hand up to his hair and started pulling at it. “Richie, I-”

“Eddie,” Richie said again, more firmly this time. It was enough to pull Eddie out of his thoughts. “You still with me?” 

Eddie nodded, again forgetting Richie couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I’m with you.” 

Richie was quiet for a moment, staring at the drink in his hand as he tried to figure out his words. “I’m not mad, Eds. And I don’t- none of us Losers think you’re a coward, okay?”

“Ric-”

“No, let me finish. I’m not gonna pretend I know what you’re going through right now or anything. I’ve never been married or had any kind of life you’ve had. I’m just a big, drunk idiot who’s been in love with the same person for thirty fucking years.” Richie took a pause, long enough to take another drink. “But you? Eds, you’re- God, you’re something else, man. Yeah, you have hang-ups, who doesn’t? But you’re getting through that. I mean, fuck,  _ I’m  _ not in therapy, I don’t think any of us are, except you. And that’s fucking brave as shit. You got- you got stabbed and  _ died  _ and you’re still here because you’re a stubborn motherfucker and probably told the Grim Reaper to fuck himself or something. 

What I’m trying to say is you’re  _ brave,  _ Eddie. You’re strong in ways you don’t even know. So, yeah, I’m bummed we aren’t all cuddles and shit right now, but I’m not mad. You’ve got your own shit to sort out, and I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to. But don’t you  _ ever  _ call yourself a coward for that, man. You’re taking care of you, and that’s...that’s better than a lot of us are doing. So, do what you need to do, and I’ll be here, however you want me.”

It was quiet on both ends of the phone for a while after that, both men mulling over what Richie had just said. Morning Richie was probably going to throttle Current Richie for some of the more sappy stuff he’d let slip, but Current Richie was more focused on not having a panic attack after accidentally outright confessing amidst all the other things he’d said. Eddie, for his part, was staring into middle space, letting Richie’s words settle over him. 

“Thirty years, huh?” Eddie murmured, just loud enough for Richie to hear. 

“Really?  _ That’s  _ what you pick up on?” Richie couldn’t help but grin, albeit nervously. He felt a little sick but did his best to push that feeling away until he hung up the phone. 

“Even when you didn’t remember me?”

“Yeah, even then.” Richie sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But I think you’re focusing on the wrong thing here. I mean, I-”

“You mean it, though?” 

Richie licked his lips, picking at one of his fingernails. “Every word.” 

Eddie sighed, pondering his words for a moment. “I’m not...Richie, I’m not good with words.”

“I know.” 

“Shut up.” Eddie said with a roll of his eyes. He chewed his bottom lip, trying to organize his thoughts. “I want...I want this. But I’m not ready yet. And I don’t want to lose you while you wait for me to catch up.”

Richie’s heart practically beat out of his chest at Eddie’s words. He gripped his glass a little tighter. “Trust me, Eds, there’s nothing you can do to get rid of me at this point.” 

Eddie laughed half-heartedly, wiping away tears he hadn’t even noticed were falling. Richie’s words helped bring him back down to Earth. He knew he’d probably mull over them a lot the next day, would most likely have a few complete breakdowns trying to figure out how to go about this, but at least now, he was  _ sure  _ Richie would be there. “Thanks, Rich.”

“Anytime.”

________

The next afternoon when Eddie’s phone buzzed, he expected it to be from Richie. What he didn’t expect was the video Richie had sent; a guitar clearly fresh off the rack in his hands, clumsily but surely making his way through a rendition of Hey There Delilah. 

_ Told you I still got it _


	14. Maybe We Can Try

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter before the epilogue!

Spring was on its way to Beverly Hills. Spring, of course, was not much different than winter, which wasn’t itself far off from autumn, and so on. But groundhog day had already happened- about a month ago at that- so in Richie’s book, it was practically Spring already. On a normal spring morning, Richie would take his time waking up, usually rolling out of bed somewhere between the hours of eight and noon depending on his schedule, take his coffee out to his balcony, and enjoy watching the world wake up. 

This was no normal spring morning, though. This particular morning found Richie sluggishly stomping towards his front door at roughly 4 AM (just a couple hours after he’d managed to get to bed), cursing the landlord for installing those fancy new doorbells. He was ready to give whatever early bird evangelist a piece of his mind, go back to bed, and later look up how to disable his doorbell. 

Any angry ranting Richie had planned died in his throat as soon as he opened the door. There in his hallway was Eddie, suitcase in one hand and a coffee in the other with the tell-tale look of someone who had just gotten off of a very sleepy plane ride. 

Richie rubbed his eyes, blinked slowly and then very quickly, and pinched himself for good measure, but the Eddie in front of him didn’t go away. He was just shifting his weight, thumb rubbing the handle of the cane in his hands anxiously, watching Richie with that trademarked amused and annoyed expression of his.

“Holy shit.” Was all Richie was able to get out. 

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Eddie said, shifting on his feet again. When Richie made no reply outside of staring agape at Eddie, he sighed and cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh, yeah! Yeah, of course.” Richie stepped out of the way, letting Eddie make his way inside. “Can I get you anything? I’ve only been up for like, five minutes? But I can make you something if you want, or-”

“I’m good. Thanks, though.” As Eddie made his way over to Richie’s couch, lugging his massive suitcase behind him, Richie stood dumbfounded in the doorway, still not entirely convinced he wasn’t dreaming. 

“How’d you get my address?” Richie asked, not looking away from Eddie as he settled into the couch. 

“Technically I had it from when we all exchanged addresses, but I checked with Bev to make sure this was still the right place.” The two men stared at each other for a moment, Eddie fidgeting in his seat as Richie’s eyes bore into him. “Are you gonna close the door?” 

That snapped Richie out of his haze just a little, enough for him to realize his door was wide open to the outside world (or, well, the hallway outside his apartment) and he was still just in boxers and an old tour shirt. He shut the door, lingering with his back to Eddie for just a beat too long. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything? Like coffee, or-”

“Honestly, I’m fine. Besides, I don’t drink caffeine.” Richie nodded, and once again fell silent. Eddie huffed behind him. “Can you sit down?”

Richie was moving before he even registered it, plopping down on the couch next to Eddie, looking at him from the corner of his eye. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”

Eddie snickered, though there was a nervousness behind it. “No, dumbass, you aren’t dreaming.” 

“Why are you here?” Richie asked, quickly steamrolling into more words when he saw Eddie flinch. “I’m cool with you being here, of course! I just, ya know, wasn’t expecting company, especially not you, but not in like, a bad way, just an unexpected way.” 

Eddie sighed beside him, sitting up a little straighter, tension written all across his body. Richie wanted to hold him. “Are you awake enough to have a conversation?”

Richie couldn’t help but smile. When they were kids, it was a well-known fact he couldn’t hold a conversation before he’d been awake for a couple of hours. “I think so, yeah.”

Eddie nodded and bit his lip, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been, uh, I’ve been talking to my therapist. About...stuff. You.” He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “Remember a few months ago, when you sent me that video? Of you singing?” 

Richie nodded. He’d sent several in the time since then, ranging from songs like  _ Wonderwall  _ to an acoustic cover of  _ Fergalicious.  _ He had some old originals saved in his drafts, too. Love songs he’d written in college that, now that he was looking back on, were all about Eddie. 

“When you sent that, it was like something, I dunno, clicked? If that’s the right word? I just...I know I said I wasn’t ready for anything serious, and I’m still not sure if I am, but I’ve been talking to my therapist a lot and I think I’m ready for something. Only if you still want, you know, but you said that you were ok with waiting for me, and I think I’m ready. Not for...all of it, but, yeah.” Eddie took a steadying breath, closing his eyes in preparation for Richie’s response. 

A heavy silence fell over the room as both men took it all in. As the silence stretched on, Eddie became more and more sure that he’d fucked it all up; Richie had moved on and he wasn’t welcome here. He was getting ready to calculate how much a ticket back to New York would be when Richie finally spoke. 

“You...you want this?” He gestured between the two of them, eyes wide behind his glasses. 

Eddie nodded. “I don’t know if I’m ready for, you know, a relationship? But, Richie, I’ve wanted you since I was a kid. Staying away from you wasn’t doing either of us any good. I’m probably gonna be a really shitty person to be around for a while, and I’m probably gonna have to be eased into a lot of things, and I can almost guarantee I’m going to have several meltdowns but, yeah. I want this.”

Richie nodded, taking all this in. “So, does that mean I can kiss you?” 

Eddie answered by pressing their lips together. 


	15. Epilogue: And They All Lived Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sobbed while writing this chapter

September, 2017

_ Richard Tozier & Edward Kaspbrack  _

_ You are hereby cordially invited to the union of Beverly Marsh & Ben Hanscom  _

_ Losers Only  _

Bev and Ben’s wedding was, unsurprisingly, beautiful. They’d chosen a small venue on the beach, which seemed fitting for a couple that ended up traveling as often as they did. Beverly, of course, looked stunning. Her gown was handmade and her hair had grown since Derry, twisted into a braid that came to just below her shoulders. 

When she’d asked Richie to walk her down the aisle, he of course said yes with no hesitation, then burst into tears once he’d fully processed what it was she was asking. As he walked her down, neither could keep the grins from their faces, especially when they saw the way Ben’s face flushed when he laid his eyes on Bev. She gave him a tight hug before joining Ben at the front of the ceremony, looking happier than any of the Losers could ever recall seeing her. 

He then joined his rightful spot at Eddie’s side, twining their fingers together and patting Eddie’s service dog on the head. He glanced over at the chair next to him, left empty for Stan, and could have sworn he saw the man himself sitting there, a proud grin on his face. The trick of the light that looked like Stan turned its head, smiling at Richie. Richie smiled back, giving Eddie’s hand an extra tight squeeze as he used his free one to rub at his eyes. When he put his glasses back in their proper space, Phantom Stan was gone, and he turned his attention back to the ceremony. 

The vows were short; Bev and Ben recited the poem that brought them together in the first place to each other. Ben’s hands were shaking so much, he’d nearly dropped the ring as he was putting it on Beverly’s finger. She’d just smiled and kissed him on the cheek, holding his hand steady as she slipped the ring on. They kissed, and that was that. A very informal reception was held afterward. It essentially was just the Losers hanging out in Bev and Ben’s living room as they normally would, just with fancier clothes. Dances were had, toasts were made, and by the time everything was said and done, it was well into the wee hours of the night. 

The Losers finally separated, each splitting off into their own bedrooms. Richie all but threw himself onto the soft bed, sighing contentedly as he watched Eddie put down his cane and start working on the buttons of his shirt. Richie pushed himself up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. The movement caught Eddie’s attention, and he laughed when Richie started making grabby hands at him but walked over nonetheless. Wordlessly, Richie slipped his fingers into Eddie’s belt loops and pulled him into his lap, kissing him eagerly. 

Eddie was smiling against his lips, putting his hands on Richie’s shoulders for stability. Richie started to move his hands down Eddie’s back, at which point Eddie pulled away from the kiss, still grinning. “I can’t help but feel like we’re being watched.” 

Richie looked over his shoulder, seeing Eddie’s service dog laying on the ground and watching them intently. When she caught Richie’s eye, her tail started wagging but made no other move to get up. He snickered into Eddie’s neck, wrapping his arms tighter around the other man. Eddie laughed with him, placing a kiss on the top of Richie’s head between laughs. 

“We should get married.” Richie said, voice muffled by Eddie’s shoulder. 

“What?”

Richie pulled back, looking his boyfriend in the face. “We should get married.”

Eddie did his best to keep his expression schooled, but couldn’t help the upturn of the corner of his lips. “Richie Tozier, are you proposing to me?”

Richie grinned. “Maybe a little.”

Eddie smiled, a soft, sleepy smile, saved just for Richie, and kissed him. 

“Is that a yes?” 

Eddie laughed. “Richie, I’ve been writing Eddie Tozier in my notebooks since I was, like, 10. What do you think?” 

Neither man could stop smiling if they wanted to. They eventually untangled, Richie being reluctant to let Eddie up (“You can’t drop a bomb like that and expect me to  _ not  _ want to hold you for, like, ever”), got ready for bed, and fell asleep curled up in each other’s arms. 

They would get married, eventually. It would be several years before they did. Richie wanted to wait until he was well and properly out to the world before he went forward with anything. He came out on tour in mid-2018 to, well, mostly positive reception. The Losers were all incredibly proud of him, and that was really all that mattered. 

Things weren’t perfect, of course. Richie and Eddie still had their fights. Eddie would sometimes have to get up and walk away during their more intimate moments, anxiety too loud to do anything but panic. Richie still drank too much, especially in the months leading up to his public outing. They both had nightmares. Eddie would wake up apologizing to his mother, Richie to the overwhelming feeling of being completely alone, and both to the feeling of Its claw going through Eddie’s back. But they got through it, together. 

When they got married, it was also a small ceremony. Certified Losers and Losers by proxy only, as by that point Bev and Ben had a set of twins. The wedding was, of course, chaotic. Richie had gone speechless when he saw Eddie walk down the aisle in all white, Bill escorting him. Eddie had written pages upon pages of vows, eventually having to have his rambling be cut off by a quick kiss. Their dog was the ringbearer, of course, and it was just about as perfect as it could have been. 

And on the day they were married, Stan watched from his designated seat, right between Bill and Mike. His time was running out, but he’d managed to extend his deal, just for this. As the Losers made their way back to the Tozier residence, Stan watched them go, smiling, even as another presence walked up beside him. 

“You ready?” Death asked, holding out a hand. 

Stan watched the Losers for a moment longer. Bev and Ben buckling their kids into their car seats, Mike laughing at something Bill had said, Richie and Eddie, walking back towards their car hand in hand. He thought back to Patty, and the nice girl she’d been talking to on trivia night. He thought of the book Bill had published; a best seller in an instant, about a group of kids who had to fight something only they could beat, underneath the town of Derry. And as he took Death’s hand, he couldn’t help but think of the last line of Bill’s book. 

_ In the end, they all made it. Things were going to be okay.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, thank you! Thank you for reading a fic that took the better part of a year to write. This is the longest thing I've ever written and honestly the one I'm most proud of. Thank you so so much for coming on this journey with me.


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